Seven Days
by RickRhymes
Summary: "She knew, in her gut, if she started something with Rick, it wasn't going to end with a one night stand. For either of them." Richonne short story. Pre-apocalypse AU.
1. Monday

Inspired by Craig David's "7 Days".

* * *

Rick stood on the subway platform of the Indian Creek Station in Stone Mountain, Georgia, shifting impatiently. The air was hot and humid. Commuters were packed around him like sardines. He craned his neck to peer down the rail, as if the train would spontaneously appear on the horizon. It didn't. He could feel the sweat starting to pool under his arms, and he willed it to stop. The last thing he wanted for a court appearance was pit stains down to his waist.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and closed his eyes, recalling the events of an evening a couple months back which had landed him here in the first place. His oldest friend, Shane, had treated him to a Hawks game in Atlanta. Afterward, in the parking lot, they enjoyed a couple of hot dogs and talked about the team's defense. Across the lot, there was a small group of men conversing loudly. He couldn't hear what they were saying, save for a few angry expletives. One member seemed to be especially riled up. He was thin and white, with hair shaped into a whitewall. He looked to be in his late forties. He wore a sleeveless leather vest over a graphic t-shirt, and faded black jeans.

His mouth got louder and fouler by the minute. Something had set him off, and it was drawing the attention of the entire parking lot. Rick and Shane tried to ignore the spectacle, but the situation escalated when he went to the trunk of his beat-up Chevy and produced a crow bar. They dumped their food in the closest waste bin and jogged over to the commotion, reaching the group just as the man's crowbar collided with the front windshield of a hideous lime green Buick parked close by. Rick and Shane first identified themselves as police. Atlanta was not their jurisdiction, but the mere presence of law enforcement often helped to diffuse these situations. It did this time, too – the man dropped the crow bar and made a run for it.

Shane took off after him while Rick talked to one of the other men, a skinny red-head who looked like his dog had just died. Rick figured he was the owner of the Buick. He took down the vandal's license plate and got his name – Merle Dixon. Shane reappeared shortly after, empty-handed. They advised the owner of the car to file a report with the Fulton County Police Department, then headed home.

Now, Rick was being summoned as a witness to the crime in small claims court. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Dixon was refusing to pay for the damages to the vehicle. In hindsight, he almost wished he had stayed out of the altercation. But after more than a decade in law enforcement, for him, it was a simple reflex. Jumping in to help wherever help was needed. Calming folks down. Keeping the peace.

On that thought, the train rolled into the station. The other passengers jostled around him, trying to gage where it would stop, and how close they could get to the entrance. After several long moments of inching, pushing, hot breath in his face, and strong cologne in his nostrils, Rick made his way into the train car. Inside, it was no less packed than on the platform, but at least it was air conditioned.

He didn't take the subway often, didn't even come to Atlanta often, but the thought of battling afternoon traffic in the city was so unbearable it made him cringe on the spot. And this was one of the nicer rails, with clean seats and floors, bright lights, and big windows. Not like the dingy, graffiti-ridden ones you saw on nineties television shows.

He picked an empty seat closer the back and settled in for the ride. He rested his elbows on his knees, then pulled out his phone and opened a book in his e-reader, which he reserved almost exclusively for these situations. He barely remembered what the story was about, but he continued to scan through the pages, looking up briefly every time the train made a stop.

The Decatur Station was about half way between Indian Creek and his destination, the Five Points Station. It was at this stop, that he not only looked up from his book, but forgot about the book entirely.

Just as the last of the passengers filed in and the train began to roll forward, the lights inside flickered off. Then back on. Then off again. The train picked up speed quickly, then without warning, pulled to a sharp halt, and every passenger lurched forward. The unbearable sound of screeching metal filled the air. Rick braced his palms on the back of the seat in front of him to keep still.

A few seconds later, the train accelerated again – jerkily at first, then smooth. The lights came back on. An infant wailed. A young man in a suit mourned the loss of his mid-day coffee, which was now splattered on the floor. One woman knelt down to pick up a mess of books and papers that had fallen from her arms.

Otherwise, the riders seemed unphased. The rail operator didn't make an announcement. Such malfunctions must have been a regular occurrence, Rick figured.

His own phone had skittered to the floor during the turbulence. He spotted it in the aisle just behind his seat and reached back to retrieve it. As he wrapped his hands around the device, he caught sight of something. Someone. A woman, doubled over, and slowly lowering herself into the closest seat. One of her hands gripped the back of the seat, and the other clutched at her left thigh. He caught glimpses of her as she sat, but couldn't make out her appearance very well.

He noticed deep brown hair, spun into dreadlocks that just kissed her collar bones. He noticed a moss green dress, which hung loose on her body. Dark, smooth skin peeking out at her chest, her arms, and her legs. A black leather tote slung over her shoulder. He noticed her breathing seemed unsteady. She looked like she was close to vomiting.

Instinctively, he adjusted in his seat, planting his feet in the aisle so he could face the woman head on.

"Are you okay?" He asked, inclining his head toward her.

She lifted her head and met his eyes. Hers were brown. Her lips were pursed together. She took a couple of deep breaths through her nose and nodded. Then, looked back down.

Rick's eyes darted to her hand which was hovering gingerly over her clearly injured thigh.

"Is your leg hurt?" He pressed.

"I'm fine," she said tensely. She wanted him to leave her alone, he could tell. He almost did.

"If you need -"

"I don't need help, Officer Friendly." She cut him off, and looked back up to his eyes to convey her message.

Rick pondered, briefly, how she would have known to address him as an officer. He was in plain clothes that day - a pair of khakis and a button down shirt - for his court appearance. Then he remembered his badge on his belt, tucked away under his sport coat. His hand went to it instinctively.

He was curious as to when she had spotted it - especially given her current distraction - but it didn't matter. Her tone gave off a very clear warning sign, so he nodded and moved to turn back around in his seat. She let out a sigh.

"I'm sorry." Her voice had softened just a bit. Just enough.

"Are you hurt?" He asked again.

"It'll pass." She replied. "It's an old wound. If I hit it hard enough, it hurts like it's fresh. I fell down when the train stopped, and my leg slammed right into the corner of a seat."

"Was it a broken bone?"

"No, but I had a car accident a while back and..."

She was cut off when the lights flickered again. Their eyes darted around the train, waiting for another jolt, but it didn't come. After a few moments, Rick met her eyes again.

"False alarm," he smiled, and turned around in his seat to face her more directy. "I'm Rick." She smiled back, barely. The pain seemed to be passing.

"Michonne."

"Michonne," he tried out the name on his lips.

She _was_ striking. Had she been on board when he entered? Or did she come on after him? He couldn't remember. It was hard to believe he could have missed her before. Her full lips, dark eyes, and smooth voice seemed to command his attention, now. She looked to be about his age - mid 30s, maybe a little younger. And he guessed she would stand at just a few inches below him.

"You said you were in a car accident?" He refocused his attention.

She waved it off. "It's a long story."

 _I've got time._ It almost rolled right off of his tongue. And for some reason, he really did want to hear how she had gotten hurt. He wanted to ask what kind of car she drove, and whether or not she had to be in the hospital. Hell, he wanted to ask how much her car insurance went up.

"Where are you headed?" He inquired. She gave him a slightly amused, slightly knowing glance.

"To work."

"Where's work?" He pried.

"Peachtree Street." Rick smirked. Her short, nondescript responses were sparking his interest all the more.

It had been so long since he'd had the feeling - years - he almost didn't recognize it. Somewhere along the way, he'd probably even convinced himself that it wouldn't happen. Not again. But here he was, feeling it. A spark. A connection. A little bit of desire, simmering just under the surface. All of it, hitting him at once like a speeding train.

"So you'll be getting off at Five Points?" His stop.

"Why do you ask?"

"Michonne…" God, he liked that name. "I was wondering how much time I have left to ask if I can see you again."

* * *

Michonne returned to work a little after one in the afternoon. Her building was smack dab in the middle of downtown Atlanta, and quite a head-turner with its twenty-seven stories and shimmering glass exterior. She entered the lobby through a revolving glass door, then waved to the receptionist, and hung a left to head down the hallway to the stairwell. Overall, it was a modern structure, but marble tile floors and ancient Roman archways added character. For color, original artworks of the city lined the walls throughout the building. Having worked there for several years, she was familiar with most of the pieces, but they still caught her attention every time.

Countless businesses in the Atlanta area held space in this building. Hers was on the second floor. She climbed two flights, then entered her suite, and headed straight for the north facing corner office, passing the empty desks of her colleagues who hadn't yet returned from lunch.

Inside the office, were two standard, computer desks in a birch cherry hard wood. One was pristine with no clutter or debris. The other was scattered with papers, books, journals, and empty coffee cups. The walls were a comfortable shade of cream, adorned with various framed accolades and achievements. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across two of the walls, while the other two were covered with tall bookshelves, overflowing with literature. Michonne walked over to the unkept desk and began unloading more crap onto it from her bag.

She turned around when she heard a knock on the door frame. It was Zeke, her boss. A tall, athletic man in his forties with grey hair and warm eyes. He was one of the top attorneys at the small personal injury law firm where they worked, and Michonne was his go-to paralegal.

Zeke had a weird, yet sweet habit of knocking before entering this office. It was, in fact, _his_ office, which he shared with her. But he spent so much time meeting with clients at their homes - since many of them weren't well enough to travel - and in court, that she usually had the place to herself. She'd spent more than her share of early mornings and late nights in this office - conducting research, fact checking, drafting documents and correspondences - and Zeke always tried to be respectful of her time and her space.

"Hi Zeke," Michonne said with a genuine smile.

"How did the meeting with Mrs. Marsden go?" He asked, stepping over the threshold.

"Good. Her story is consistent with the biker's. An aggressive driver in a white SUV cut her off and then deliberately slammed on their brakes. She swerved to avoid crashing into them and collided with the Harley Davidson. And the jerk who caused it all drove away."

"Excellent. Dismissing the citation from the insurance company should be no problem, then. I'm sorry I couldn't be there. The Reiner case is getting...complicated." He gave her an apologetic grin. "Besides, Mrs. Marsden likes you."

Michonne shook her head to convey that no apologies were necessary, then walked around to sit at her desk, favoring her left leg as she went.

"Is everything okay?" Zeke asked, noticing her limp.

"Yeah, there was just a little turbulence on the subway this afternoon. I fell and hit my leg."

Zeke rushed forward with concern in his eyes. "Are you alright?" He was well aware of the details her recent accident. Her injuries included whiplash, a concussion, several minor cuts and bruises, and a fracture to her left femur.

"Fine. Just a little sore."

"Man, I'd love to find the guy who -"

"It's history, Zeke." Michonne said as she plopped down in her swivel chair.

"I know. People like that just drive me insane."

"That's part of what makes you such a good lawyer."

Zeke looked away, uncomfortable with taking compliments. "Anyway… A bunch of us are going out to Gibney's tonight. You should come."

"No, thanks." She contemplated whether or not to give him the reason. She and Zeke had a professional relationship, but also a casual camaraderie which she enjoyed very much. "I might...have a date." She confessed, feigning nonchalance.

"A date." Zeke eyes lit up with interest. He leaned back against his neat, tidy desk and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly expecting more details.

"I met him on the subway. When I fell, he was very concerned about my leg."

"Both of 'em, I bet." He teased. She let out a dramatic sigh, knowing that he would likely keep this up for days. "Wait, what do you mean you _might_ have a date?"

 _I was wondering how much time I have left to ask if I can see you again._

Michonne surprised herself by accepting his offer on the spot. If someone had asked her that very morning if she would ever agree to go on a date with a person she'd known for four minutes, she would've said no. But there was something about him.

Initially, she had written Rick off as either a creep trying to get into her pants, or a cop trying to harass her - both of which, she was no stranger toward. However, his face revealed nothing but genuine concern for a fellow human being.

At first.

As they talked, she saw a familiar desire begin to creep into his eyes. It was strange - he had almost seemed uncomfortable with it, like it had snuck up on him. And yet, that didn't stop him from acting on it immediately. She couldn't begin to explain any of that, but she'd be damned if it wasn't intriguing as hell.

She knew she was taking a risk, in more ways than one. Her instincts told her he was a good person, someone to be trusted, and that didn't have a thing to do with his job title. But her head...

"I told him I'd go, but...I might cancel."

"Go." Zeke urged. "He sounds nice."

"He is." She admitted, speaking not as much about his personality as she was about his subtle southern accent; his umber brown hair casually slicked back, forming barely-there curls behind his ears; the crinkles at the corners of his stark, blue eyes; the bowlegged gait she'd observed as they had walked out onto the courtyard in front of the Five Points station before parting ways...

A moment passed.

"He's a cop." Michonne offered, just to see Zeke's reaction. After a split second of confusion, a laugh erupted from deep in his chest.

"Despite that…" Zeke said as he headed out of the office. "Go."

* * *

"So, I still don't know what you do." Rick said. He sat across from Michonne in a cozy little Vietnamese restaurant that she had recommended.

It was simple, chic venue. The dining area had sleek, wood-top tables and checker-back chairs. Romantic lighting emanated from sconces on the wall. Concrete floors and exposed beams gave it an industrial flare.

"I'm a paralegal. I do research, interviews...things that the attorneys are too busy for."

Rick smiled. "I know what a paralegal does."

"A lot of people don't," she said. "I've just gotten into the habit of explaining it."

The waitress interrupted to serve them their food. Michonne had ordered Pho with shrimp. Rick had asked for the same, and an iced tea. They continued their discussion while they ate.

"What kind of attorneys do you work for?" Rick asked.

"Personal injury. We mainly handle auto accidents and worker's comp cases."

He recalled their brief conversation on the subway.

"Speaking of auto accidents," he said. "Tell me about yours."

"I was downtown, and traffic was pretty heavy 'cause of a Hawks game. And I was coming through an intersection and I saw a man running down the sidewalk. And he was _moving_ , like a bat out of hell. But I didn't think he would come right out into the street." Michonne retold the story of her accident while Rick listened intently.

"Well...he did. I swerved to avoid him, and spun out into the next lane. There was a truck coming and the driver didn't have enough time to stop and… Boom."

"Driver's side?"

"Yep."

Rick winced as the image in his mind: Michonne spinning out of control in her car, her head banging against the windows, metal crushing down on her body.

"How badly were you hurt?"

"My leg was the worst of it. And I had some cuts and scrapes. Minor concussion."

"And the guy who likes to play in traffic? They ever catch him?"

"No, he was long gone."

"What did he look like? Maybe I could -"

"Rick," she scolded playfully, pointing an admonishing finger at him. He got the picture. She did work for a personal injury firm, after all. No doubt she had exhausted the options on this one.

"Sorry," he said, holding his hands up in surrender, enjoying the sound of his name on her lips.

"I could pick him out of a crowd, though. He had an interesting style. Bald except for the top of his head. He had on a hideous leather vest two sizes too big for him…"

As she described the man, Rick began to entertain a highly unlikely coincidence. It was almost impossible. But he had been downtown a couple months ago. The night of a Hawks game. And Merle Dixon had been running from Shane. And he had that ugly ass haircut.

Rick chuckled under his breath.

"What?" Michonne asked.

"Nothing. I was just remembering that I was at a Hawks game a while back, and there was this guy -" He was cut off when his cell phone vibrated on the table.

He took a peek at it, saw the caller, and swiped the screen to decline the call.

"He was causing a bit of trouble and -," The phone vibrated again. He sighed and looked back at the screen. It was the same number.

Lori. His ex-wife.

And he knew she wouldn't be trying to reach him so persistently if it wasn't about their son, Carl.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "This...might be important." He struggled to find an explanation that didn't include the words, _ex-wife_ or _son_. Not that he wasn't planning on telling Michonne about them, just not at that exact moment.

She gave him an understanding nod.

Rick stood from their table and answered the call. "Hey."

"Rick," Lori's familiar voice came through. It was hoarse and strained tonight. "Carl's in the emergency room."

Rick's heart dropped into his stomach. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she whimpered. "He was playing baseball down the street with Patrick. Patrick's mom said he just clutched his stomach and went down."

"I'm on my way."

"He wasn't conscious, Rick."

"Just stay calm. I'll be there in a thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes?"

"I'm not at home, I'm in Atlanta."

She didn't respond to that at first. Then, "You can't get here that fast."

"I can if I break the speed limit. Look, I'll be there as soon as I can. Everything's gonna be fine." Rick hung up and turned back to Michonne. From the look on her face, she clearly gathered that he was about to cut their date short.

"Rick, you don't have to explain…"

"My son's in the hospital." He broke in. He had wanted to tell her about his son in a different way, but he certainly wasn't going to lie about where he was going just to avoid an awkward conversation.

He searched her face for a reaction, but didn't find one. She sat in silence for a beat, then her eyes revealed sympathy.

"Of course. Go." She stood up.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's okay."

"Thank you," he said, grateful that she was saying all the words he wanted to hear, but still hating having to walk out on her. Impulsively, he leaned in and brushed a kiss across her cheek to say goodbye.

They both stiffened.

It was the first time they had touched. Come and gone in the blink of an eye. His body crackled with awareness of her. The feel of her soft skin was seared onto his lips. He pulled back to look into her eyes, and he knew she felt the same thing. Unfortunately, they didn't have the time to bask in it.

"I'll call you," he murmured.

Michonne gave him a small smile.

And with that, he hurried out of the restaurant.

* * *

Michonne walked through the front door of her apartment and closed the door. She flipped the deadbolt and walked down a long entry hall that opened up to a living room on her left, and a modest kitchen and dining room on her right. Further back in the apartment was her bedroom with a quaint balcony, and a bathroom across the hallway.

The apartment itself was standard: hard wood floors, stainless steel appliances, one bedroom, one bathroom... Small, and certainly not fancy, but absolutely hers in every way. She'd accentuated it with colorful, contemporary furniture; various wall art and sculptures; and bright, vibrant plants. It was home.

She walked into the kitchen and threw her bag on the dining table before opening the freezer. She rummaged for something to satisfy her sweet tooth and came up with a container of caramel macchiato ice cream. She grabbed a spoon and headed back to her bedroom, where she kicked her shoes off into the corner. After a moment, thoughts of Rick crept back in on her.

She worried for him. There was a raw terror in his eyes that told her whatever landed his son in the hospital could have been very serious.

 _His son._

She hadn't guessed, but she wasn't surprised.

He was easily in his mid to late thirties. He told her he'd lived in the small town of Mansfield all his life, and had been with the Covington County Police Department for the past twelve years. His partner, Shane, was his best friend since high school. He enjoyed watching old movies after a long day at work. He liked to play basketball on his days off.

He seemed settled, stable, reliable...someone who would make a good father. She couldn't imagine he'd ever had trouble finding someone to procreate with. He didn't exactly stand out in a crowd, but once you saw him… God, it was impossible to see anything else.

Michonne began her evening routine, slipping out of her jeans and top that she'd worn for her date. She unhooked her bra and went to discard it in her top dresser drawer. Inside, nestled between colorful bras and underwear was a small object. She always kept it there. Tonight, she picked it up. She worked it back and forth in her hands, examining it for the hundredth time, not feeling any particular way about it.

She put it back, closed the drawer.

She pulled an oversized, overworn Cal State t-shirt over her head, grabbed her ice cream, and plopped down on her bed. Grabbing the remote, she started to scan through the channels, looking specifically for a campy horror flick. If there was one thing comparable to an evening with a blue-eyed country boy, she mused, this was it.


	2. Tuesday

Rick finally walked through his front door around three in the morning. Not bothering to turn on the lights, he unloaded his pockets onto his living room table, collapsed onto the couch, and exhaled deeply. After several hours in the hospital, most of it spent with tension clenching and unclenching in his chest, he knew Carl would be okay.

Rick had come into the E.R. waiting room and spotted Lori sitting near the receptionist's desk with red, puffy eyes and a tissue clenched in her fist. No doubt she was driving the receptionist nuts, badgering her every five minutes for minutes for an update on her little boy.

There was an intense, irrational fear that kicked in every time you think your child might be in danger. When Carl was a baby, he'd gotten sick on their way to the Grand Canyon. He remembered him and Lori being in a hospital in Fort Worth, Texas, handing Carl over to the emergency nurse and watching them disappear through the doors that said Restricted Area.

Any reasonable person could conclude that a sick infant is the utmost priority in a hospital, but as the minutes passed without any word from the doctor, Rick had begun to conjure up horrible images in his head. Imagines of his son lying on a little stretcher in the hallway while dozens of capable nurses and doctors passed by, neglecting to help him. Images of Carl, lifeless on an operating room table, surrounded by doctors trying to muster up the courage to inform the parents.

In the end, Carl had been perfectly fine. He could only hope for the same outcome this time.

"The doctor said his appendix ruptured," Lori said, standing up as she saw him approach. Her long brown hair hung loose around her shoulders. It was messy, like she'd been running her fingers through it a lot. She wore a faded blue sweatshirt over a casual white dress, and sandals.

"What does that mean?" Rick asked.

"It means they have to take it out. They have to do surgery."

"What are the risks?"

"None," Lori said, though her eyes began to well up. "They said they do it all the time."

He let himself feel the slightest bit of relief. A routine procedure. _They do it all the time._

They didn't speak for a few beats.

"Can we see him?" Rick asked.

"No. They're already prepping him for surgery. The doctor said she'd come back out to talk before they take him to O.R."

Resigned, they sat down side by side

"Where's Jeff?", he asked eventually, without looking at her. Jeff was Lori's husband.

"He's working the night shift." Jeff did highway construction. "He won't check his phone until he goes on break."

He nodded. They sat quietly until the doctor came out and explained to them what the next steps were, what the operation entailed, and when they could see their son again.

Then, they waited together while Carl underwent surgery. Rick sat opposite Lori this time, wringing his hands, looking down at the waiting room carpet squares. The persistent silence between him and his ex-wife wasn't strained, nor was it comfortable. It was a kind of quiet that existed between two people who had already said everything they would ever need to say to each other, and then some.

Neither of them wanted or needed to engage in small talk just to fill the space.

By the end of the night, Carl was in recovery. The procedure took a little over two hours, and had gone without a hitch. In that time, Jeff had gotten Lori's messages and joined them at the hospital. The doctor let them all wait in the recovery room while he came out of anesthesia.

Around one in the morning, Carl's eyes opened and he croaked out, "Mom?" At which point, Rick felt like he could breathe again for the first time since Lori had called. He kissed his son on the forehead and told him he loved him. The boy responded by asking something about pie, and the adults in the room cracked up.

The three of them stayed with him for a bit longer after that, until the nurse came in and informed them that only one parent could spend the night. Lori stayed. Rick and Jeff each went home.

Now, with his crisis averted, Rick reached for his discarded phone and opened up the last message he'd received from Michonne: the address of the restaurant where they'd met up. He wanted to send her something, but he was too exhausted even to string together the words in his head.

He decided to give her a call in the afternoon instead.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought about how nice it would be just to hear her voice again.

* * *

Michonne's fingers hovered over the keyboard on her phone. She backspaced one word at a time until her message box was blank again. She'd lost count of how many times she'd done that today. Over and over, she would type out a message to Rick, mull it over, then delete it.

This was hard territory to navigate. She wanted to ask if everything had turned out okay, but they had just met yesterday. She didn't know if she was in a position to be looking for updates on his family matters. And in a worst case scenario, she didn't want to disturb him in a difficult time.

That settled it. She'd spent enough time on this. Rick said he'd call. When he was able, he would.

She put her phone in her bag, then walked the tote over to Zeke's unoccupied desk and set it down. That ought to keep her from getting distracted. As she sat back down at her own desk, she took a second to appreciate that Zeke was out of the office that day, and couldn't ask how her date had gone.

Not that it hadn't been good. It had. Rick was gracious and forthcoming and confident, all the things she appreciated in a person. All the things that attracted her in a lover. And that's without getting into the way he looked at her, and the twang in his voice, and the five o'clock shadow that had formed on his jaw by the time they'd met up last night. Even the smallest things were sexy on him.

It wasn't long after they'd gotten their food the previous night that she'd regretted recommending that particular cuisine. Rick was well-practiced with chopsticks, and every time he dipped them into his bowl of soup, her attention was drawn to his long, strong fingers. And when he brought bundles of noodles up to his lips again and again, slurping them down and licking away the excess broth, Michonne became all too familiar with the lines and curves of his sensual mouth. A mouth made for nibbling and sucking on flesh.

Truthfully, he was stirring up a lot of different things in her that - consciously or unconsciously - she'd laid to rest quite some time ago. Nowadays, her life simply revolved around work. She'd thrown herself into it...and it had paid off. Her time and dedication had earned her a substantial raise and generous bonus over the past year.

On a whim, just to see what would happen, she'd decided to take her law school admissions exam. For three months, she studied diligently - never telling a soul, and even lying to herself half the time about why she was doing it. When her score came back solid, she applied to Georgia State's J.D. program. Again, just to see. Only after she was accepted did she feel safe admitting that taking this step in her career was something she truly wanted. She was registered to start classes in the Fall.

Amidst all of that, she'd opted for scraps of a social life. And her love life...well, that had withered away entirely. She couldn't remember the last time she let a guy occupy her thoughts for more than five minutes. Yet here it was, eleven in the morning, and she'd been thinking about Rick all day.

Michonne rolled her neck and cracked her knuckles, then refocused her attention on her work. She was preparing for one of the rare medical malpractice suits that her firm handled; gathering the pertinent documents for their expert witness, and drafting a complaint for Zeke to review later.

She powered through until lunchtime, then stood from her desk, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door to hit up a taco truck that was on the corner every Tuesday. As she reached the stairs, she felt her phone vibrate. She rummaged through her bag and pulled it out.

 _Rick_.

She swiped the screen to answer the call.

"Hi," she said.

"Hey." He didn't sound devastated. A good sign.

"How's your son?"

"Okay. He had to have an appendectomy, but he'll live."

"That's good," she said, genuinely relieved that a tragedy had been avoided.

The silence lingered for a moment.

"Listen, Michonne…" Rick started.

"If this is an apology, don't." She cut in.

"I just -"

"Your son was in the hospital. I don't want to hear it." She insisted.

"Okay," he submitted, his tone a little lighter this time. "No apologies. But maybe you'll let me make it up to you."

"I'm listening."

"Well," he began. "I was thinking I could come back into the city. Tonight. We could get a drink and...pick up where we left off."

"Starting all over again certainly would increase the chances of an interruption."

"My thoughts, exactly."

Michonne feigned as though she were mulling it over. She could almost hear him smiling on the other end of the line.

"Alright," she said. "I'll see you at nine."

They hung up, and Michonne headed out of the building. She shook her head as she walked down the street. If she thought her concentration was off this morning, it would be completely derailed in the afternoon.

* * *

Rick and Michonne had their second date in a neighborhood bar a few blocks from her job. He had picked her up from work - at a pretty late hour, he noticed - and driven them there. After sitting at the bar and ordering two beers, she turned to him.

"So, tell me about your son." She said with an amused smile. True, he had to admit, it would have been a little ridiculous to talk about anything else, given the fact that he'd blown out of their first date early to be with Carl.

"His name is Carl. He's eleven. He likes baseball. He likes school. He's got blue eyes and freckles and...a pretty terrible hair cut right now..." He joked. "But, uh, he's a good kid. He's my whole world."

The bartender came over and set down their beers. Rick took a drink from his, then cleared his throat. He didn't think he needed to say what he was going to say next. If she had any reservations about him in this regard, he didn't think she'd be here with him right now.

"Look, just so it's out there...Carl's mother and I aren't together," Rick looked her square in the eye. "Not for a while, now."

Michonne nodded. She didn't look surprised, but seemed to appreciate his honesty.

"Were you married?" She asked.

"Yeah."

"For how long?"

Rick chuckled. "Aren't past relationships off-limits on dates?"

"Sorry," she said, looking away. "I didn't mean to pry." She had clearly taken his attempted wit to be defensiveness.

"No, no, I don't mind." He turned his body completely to face her. Their knees were almost touching. "We were married for close to fifteen years."

At that, she did look surprised.

"Yeah," he gave a self-deprecating smile. "We tied the knot right out of high school."

"You must have been crazy about each other."

"More like just crazy," he quipped. "But where we grew up, small towns like that, it's just what people do. They get married and have kids."

"Do you regret it? Getting married."

Rick pondered that. "I don't think so. It's hard to regret something that gave me my son." Not that his marriage didn't have its good times in itself. He really did love Lori. He knew she had loved him, too. That's what made it so hard for them to face the truth that they weren't right for each other.

"Have you ever…?" He asked her, speaking of marriage.

"No," she answered quickly. "Almost, once. Maybe."

He laughed. "Am I allowed to ask how old you are?"

"Thirty four," she said. Two years younger than him. Physically, she looked even younger than that. She had smooth, glowing skin and bright eyes. Strength and energy reverberated off of her. But her personality betrayed hints of wisdom and intelligence that only came with age. Needless to say, it made one hell of a sexy package.

Tonight, that package was wrapped in a sapphire blue, sleeveless dress with thin green stripes. It wasn't quite form fitting, but it was tight enough that he could make out a pair of supple breasts. And a round, ample ass that seemed barely contained by its fabric.

He couldn't help but think of how good it would feel to have it in his hands. To lay her down on one of the tables in this very bar, and grab a hold of those cheeks while he thrusted into her.

He took another long swig of his beer.

"Have you been with your law firm since high school?"

"Oh, no." She said. "I've only been there for about five years."

"And before that?"

"West coast. I went to college in California."

"What brought you back?"

"My parents." She paused. "My dad got sick and...well, they needed help for a while. They wouldn't ask for it, of course."

"Of course," Rick agreed, thinking that his own parents were the same way.

"But I came home anyway. At first, I'd always planned to go back to California. But my life is here now."

He felt a sliver of happiness at that admission. It was ridiculous to be considering how this woman could fit into his future, but he wouldn't deny, it felt good to know that she'd be around.

"You must be pretty passionate about your job, if you're working this late."

"I am. A lot of our clients are being screwed over, by their employers or the insurance companies. It feels good to be in their corner."

Michonne took a drink of her own beer. He watched the way her plump lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle, and he didn't even try to stop his mind from going where it went next.

His dick twitched in his pants. He adjusted on his seat.

"But that will have to take a backseat soon enough," she continued. "I'm starting grad school in the Fall."

She tried to downplay her excitement in her voice, but she couldn't keep it out of her eyes. He was happy for her. Like most people where he grew up, he hadn't gone to college once. It amazed him that she was going back for the second time.

"What are you going for?" He asked.

"My law degree."

"Personal injury?"

"Mmm…" She took another torturously long drink from her bottle. "I don't think so. After I graduated, I spent a few years involved in environmental activism. Before my dad and everything. Mostly protests, petitions, community service... I figure, why not try litigation?"

Michonne met his eyes in such a way that said she was curious about what he thought, but wasn't looking for his approval. She had it, regardless. While he wasn't much of an environmental advocate, beyond basic recycling, he did respect the cause, and he certainly respected someone who wanted to fight for something good.

"To clean water," he said in all seriousness. He raised his bottle in a celebratory gesture, and she did the same, clinking her bottleneck with his. They both drank, each holding the other's gaze.

"So, what about you?" She asked after a moment, pushing her hair back over her shoulder, revealing more of her neck. "How'd you become a cop? Was it your dream?"

The inflection in her voice suggested she knew that it wasn't.

"No," Rick shook his head. "I kind of stumbled into it. Me and Shane, we took the exam together. I needed a way to support me and my wife. And he...didn't have anything better to do, I suppose."

"But you enjoy it." Again, she didn't really seem to be asking.

"I do." He smiled to himself. "It makes Carl real proud, too...to tell his friends that his dad's a cop. There's not a lot of big crime in Mansfield. I'm not saving the world or anything. But, well...that's probably for the best, anyway."

"Probably," she agreed. "I think a kid would much rather know that their father's around when they need him, than to think he's a superhero."

"Oh, I'll always be around." If there's one thing he cared about in life, it was making sure that Carl always knew that he was loved. Unconditionally. No matter what happened between him and Lori, or Lori and her new husband, he would be there for his son. Anytime, anyplace.

"But," he countered, "There are…certain times, every once in a while...when it's nice to know he's not waiting at home for me to tuck him in." At that, Rick reached his hand across the short distance to Michonne's body, and just barely rested his knuckles on her knee.

Her eyes dropped to his hand. She didn't pull back, didn't ask him to move it. He would have, if she'd wanted him to.

"You know, if I have to work the late shift," he continued. "Or if I want to go to a game, or uh…" he trailed off, becoming distracted by the soft flesh against the back of his hand. He turned his hand over, then. He spread his fingers open over her knee, lightly caressing the skin there.

Michonne looked up at him. "Your son doesn't live with you?" She asked, as though his hand wasn't on her body.

Shaking his head, he slid two fingers to the underside of her knee, choosing to remain around the area where she seemed comfortable. He stroked the crease where her thigh and calf met. "He lives with his mom."

"How often do you see him?" She asked, her voice deepening.

"A lot. Most days of the week." He had, in fact, spent the whole day at the hospital with him before coming out here to meet Michonne. They'd watched movies, played cards, and took turns daring each other to eat various concoctions from Carl's food tray. "He comes to stay with me, we go out to dinner… His mom comes, too. To dinner."

Michonne smiled. "That sounds...incredibly awkward."

"Oh, it is." He let his knuckles graze the inner side of her knee. His hand was now, technically, between her legs. "But it works. We make it work."

They continued on that way, exchanging backstories and likes and pet peeves for another hour at least. Rick didn't take his hand off of her knee the entire time.

A little after eleven o'clock, Michonne finished off her second beer, and let out a telltale sigh. She was going to call it a night. Whether or not she wanted him to accompany her home remained to be seen.

"It's late," she said. "I should get home."

"Let me take you," he offered. She pondered that.

"You don't have to. I walk it all the time." Rick deflated just a bit. Her words were like a cast iron deadbolt, sliding into place and denying him access to her pussy. He wondered if he'd said something to put her off, or if she was just uncomfortable being intimate with him so soon.

He shook it off.

"I'm already here. Let me give you a ride." He was sure she didn't need him looking out for her, but it was late, and they were in downtown Atlanta. He couldn't, in good conscience, not offer to see her home safely. " _Just_ a ride."

He saw her bite back a smile. Then she nodded her head in concession.

Rick paid their tab, and then led them out of the restaurant. He felt good, pleased that this date was ending on a better note than the previous one. He was, of course, disappointed that it was ending. But that was alright.

Being with Michonne - and in his gut, he knew it would happen - would be worth the wait.

* * *

Michonne's apartment was less than a ten minute drive from the bar. The two of them hadn't spoken the entire time. They didn't need to. And the tension in the air didn't seem to leave room for many words, anyway.

She wanted him. Badly. He felt the same way, she could tell. Which made her want to distance herself from him with that much more urgency.

It wasn't fear or caution - she simply couldn't _think_. She couldn't _breathe_. Being in the bar with Rick, his fingers traveling over her skin, his body leaned in close to hear her over the noise of the crowd… It had all rendered her out of control. She was craving the touch and the smell and the taste of him. It clouded her mind and impaired her judgement.

He could ask her for anything and she would give it to him. Whenever and wherever he wanted.

She needed to get away from him. She needed to get inside her cool apartment and close the door and find relief - just five damn seconds of relief - from the relentless need pulsating inside her.

When they reached her building, Rick walked her inside the complex and to her door. There, she turned to look at him.

"I'd invite you in -" She began, not really knowing where she was going with it.

"No need to explain," he interrupted. He clearly meant it.

She nodded, then moved to head inside. "Call me, okay?"

He didn't respond right away. She could see wheels turning in his brain. Before she knew what was happening, he had closed the distance between them and crushed his mouth to hers.

Michonne's desire for space and clear thought seemed to evaporate into thin air. She relished the taste of his mouth and his hard body pressed against her. She slid her fingers around his neck and into his soft locks while Rick's hands roamed up and down her back.

He completely invaded her senses. She could taste and feel every part of him. The muscle underneath his thin, crisp shirt. The scratchy stubble on his face. The soap he used to cleanse his body. Low moans forming in his throat. His dick pressing into her thigh, hard and relentless. He slid his wet, silky tongue into her mouth, and she tasted the alcohol on his breath.

Rick broke the kiss and rested his forehead on hers, breathing heavy. When he opened his mouth to speak, she drew him back in.

Something between a whimper and a groan came from low in Rick's throat, and he pinned her back against her door. He broke away from her mouth and moved his lips to her neck, licking and nibbling at the skin there. She tilted her head to the side to give him better access. His hands moved quickly from her midsection down to her round ass. A deep moan escaped him at the feel of it in his hands.

 _Not an uncommon reaction_ , Michonne thought to herself through her own haze of lust. But coming from him, the effect on her was something else entirely. Sensation bolted through her body, all of it settling between her legs. His hands soon snaked under the hem of her dress, sliding up her thighs and into the back of her underwear so there was no more fabric between their skin. She hiked up one leg around Rick's waist to aid him in his groping.

He came back for her mouth, then. He nipped and licked at her lips before burying his tongue inside. Michonne's hands clutched his head, holding it to her. She was desperate to get closer to him.

All the while, he ground his arousal into her. It was driving her mad. She wanted him in her pussy and her hands and her mouth. Right there, in the hallway, where her neighbors could emerge from their homes at any moment. She didn't care. When she could no longer control her whimpers at the feel of him, Rick tore his hands from her backside. He planted one on the door next to her head, and slipped the other into the front of her underwear.

Michonne bit her lip to keep from crying out.

"Jesus Christ," he huffed, as her juices coated his fingers. He made two passes around her clit with one finger before slipping it into her. Then another one, and he began to pump the digits in and out of her.

She closed her eyes and moaned. He moaned along with her. Every time he drove his long fingers inside, his palm brushed against her clit. And in no time at all, she could feel herself tipping over the edge. Sensation collected between her thighs, coiling so tightly it was almost unbearable, and then finally, springing loose.

Rick buried his face into her neck when she climaxed, convulsing against him and gripping his hair in her fists.

They couldn't have been at it for longer than a minute. But, in that one minute, Michonne had experienced one of the hardest, most wrenching orgasms of her life. Her head was swimming.

They seemed to stay there like that for a long time. His fingers inside her, her dress bunched up around her hips. Both of them panting and trembling.

Eventually, he pulled his hand from her underwear. She lowered her leg to the floor and disentangled her hands from his hair. Had she been able to speak, she would have asked him to stay. To return the favor, and then some. But she was still reeling from her orgasm, and the words simply wouldn't come.

Rick backed up, then. He kept his head down and nodded a few times, like he was making some kind of a deal with himself.

"I'll call you," he said, same as he had the night before, and strode away without looking back.


	3. Wednesday

Rick lazily tossed and turned in his bed the next morning, clinging to sparse remains of sleep after a mostly restless night. The bed sheets were uncomfortably tangled around his legs and sticking to his sweat dampened skin. The air in his bedroom was thick and humid.

The air conditioner in his house had been broken for quite a while. And being partial to fresh air, he rarely missed it. But mid-summer days like this could be unbearable.

He sat up then and planted his feet on the solid, wood floor. He felt hot, sweaty, and tired.

 _And hard as a rock._

Not the usual morning wood. No, this was a result of raw, aching, pulsing desire. A desire that could only be fulfilled by one person…

He let out a sigh.

He had meant to just kiss her. To just get a taste of her lips, and call it a night. But she had felt so good, and been so responsive to him, that he'd let himself have just a little more. And before he knew it, his hand was up her dress.

She was so wet, he had wanted to come in his pants right there. He'd refrained, but her sweet noises, and the feel of her hot pussy gripping his fingers were almost too much to bear. After her climax, he couldn't even stay in her presence long enough to properly say goodnight, or he feared he would have wound up on his knees, begging her for more. And, miraculously, he'd still had enough blood in his brain to recognize that he wanted sex with Michonne to be right. The right time, the right place...

Not in the hallwayof her apartment building because both of them were too worked up to say no.

Despite her obvious attraction to him, she had made a choice not to be with him that night. She must have had a reason for it, and the last thing he wanted was to push her into something she'd regret in the morning.

So, he mumbled something to her - he couldn't even remember what - and moved as quickly as possible down the hall and out of the building. Outside, he leaned against the cool cement surface of the complex and took in gulps of air until he regained control of himself. Then, he drove home.

He'd gone to sleep horny, and dreamt of Michonne. In his dreams she was in his bed on all fours, whimpering his name while he thrust into her from behind. Then she was underneath him, squirming as he teased her clit with the head of his cock. There was more - much more - but the details escaped him the longer he was awake.

Rick stood from the bed and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and jerked back the shower curtain. He needed to see her again. _Soon_ , he decided, as he reached down and turned on the faucet in the bath tub.

As cold as it would go.

* * *

"Zeke, again, it's on my desk," Michonne said into her phone.

"There's a desk under this mess?" He replied, exasperated.

"It's in a manilla folder. I _think_ it's under a coffee cup." She could hear him rummaging through the papers on her desk.

"Ah...here we go."

"Okay. I know you didn't have a chance to review it, but I went through it three times."

"I'm sure it's fine."

"That's everything?"

"I think so. And if it isn't, I don't have time to find it. I'm going to hit the road. I need your notes from the deposition in my inbox by noon."

"You got it."

"Thanks. You're a life-saver, Michonne." He hung up without waiting for a response.

She set down her phone and impatiently tapped her fingers on the counter of her kitchen. The room was dead quiet save for the slow trickle of the brew coming from her coffee maker. She was working remotely that day, and her boss had called, frantic, trying to gather up the documents for an important meeting that had been moved up at the last minute.

But beyond that, her agenda consisted only of routine things, tasks which required little concentration on her part, something she was grateful for that day. She'd spent most of her morning in a fog, getting through her work at a decent pace but consistently distracting herself with thoughts of the previous night.

When her coffee pot was filled, she poured a generous cup, added soy milk and sugar, and then took her drink and her phone back to the living room where she was set up. She pulled up her notes on her laptop and began to give them a final once-over.

 _Why had she rebuffed Rick at the bar?_

It certainly hadn't been what her body wanted. The physical attraction had been there between them from the start, and the tension building ever since. Truthfully, her mind wasn't too keen on the decision either. He was earnest, giving, and intelligent... She couldn't have asked for a more sublime companion. She'd known him for only two days, and the mere idea of seeing him again was enough to bring a smile to her face.

So, she supposed, it came down to her gut.

 _She knew_ , in her gut, if she started something with Rick, it wasn't going to end with a one night stand. For either of them. The thought of that was...foreign, to say the least. It'd been so long since she had allowed herself to have wants outside of her professional life that she almost didn't know what to do with them.

Although, Rick had certainly given her some direction on that last night.

What she did know was that apprehension in her gut was steadily losing traction. She swore, if he produced one more throaty laugh or admirable character trait, she'd be finished.

She had just hit the Send button on her email to Zeke when her phone buzzed on the couch next to her. It was Rick.

She answered. "Hey."

"Hi," he replied. "How are you?"

"I'm...good," she managed. His voice was like a sweet jolt to her system.

"Good."

Neither of them spoke for a moment. What was the right way to start a conversation with a person who just finger fucked you against your door?

She settled for, "How's Carl?"

"He's alright," His tone changed just a fraction at the mention of his son. "He's feeling real good, and he'll get to go home tonight."

"Does he get out of school for a couple days?"

"A couple." He paused. "Listen, I'm in Atlanta again…for work. Thought you might want to meet up. Grab some lunch. Talk."

"Talk."

"Yeah, talk. About stuff. Things."

"Okay," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Under the surface, her pulse raced. "Let's talk."

"Can I pick you up at your office?"

"I'm working from home today. Pick me up here. There's a nice place nearby."

"Okay. I'll be around in about an hour."

"See you."

Michonne had barely hung up before she was rushing back to her bedroom. She changed out of the pajamas she loved to wear around the house, and pulled on the tightest pair of black jeans she owned. Then she opened her top dresser drawer - tossing a passing glance at that object - and grabbed her best push-up bra. In her closet, she found a simple Henley and pulled it over her head.

In the bathroom, she hastily washed her face, brushed her teeth, and applied just a bit of make up. She pulled out the silk tie that was holding her hair up, and her locs fell down around her shoulders. To give way to some subtle cleavage, she undid the top two buttons on her shirt.

Rick rapped on her door promptly an hour after he had called. She opened it to find him standing in the hall, dressed not for court but in his deputy's uniform. Black slacks, a police issue light blue button up, and pair of Oxfords. A watch gleamed on his wrist. His hair was casually slicked back, the way he seemed to like it. She liked it, too. His face was clean shaven again. He looked fresh and neat and competent. All looks seemed to be good on him, the best of which she was sure she hadn't even seen yet.

"Hi," she said, not bothering to hide her reaction to his ensemble.

He eyed her up and down, briefly lingering on her chest, before speaking. "Hi," he replied with a smile.

"Come in. I'm not ready just yet." She stepped back to allow him inside.

He hesitated briefly before crossing the threshold and into her hallway. He didn't have to say it - she could tell he thought it was a risky idea. She did, too. But it seemed juvenile to have him wait in the hallway for fear they'd lose control of themselves. Besides, she wanted to know what he thought of her place.

When he passed her, she could smell his scent. The same soap on his skin from last night. All at once, she could feel his lips on her neck again. She could feel his solid chest trapping her against the door. His long fingers sliding into the waistband of her underwear.

She shook her head to push the sensations away. As she shut the door, Rick ventured down the hall and into the living room. She came to stand next to him and silently surveyed the space along with him.

"This is where you live..." He said, seeming to take in every detail of the space.

"Mhmm."

"It fits. I like it." She nodded her head in appreciation.

"Do you want a drink? Coke? Water?" She offered.

He looked over at her. "A Coke would be great."

Michonne went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and pulled out a can of soda. She returned to the living room to find Rick idly exploring.

"Thank you," he said when she handed him the can, then gestured to her laptop sitting on the coffee table. "If only my precinct could find a way to incorporate a work-from-home program."

"Give it another decade or so. You'll be chasing down speeding cars with a drone, from a lounge chair on the beach." She skirted around him to sit on the sofa. She leaned over the side, picked up a pair of discarded shoes from a few days back, and began to put them on.

"That'd be a nice change from sitting in a cramped car with Shane for twelve hours."

"Ouch. Is that your usual shift?"

"Yeah. Four days on, three days off. Usually work the weekends." Rick sat down next to her. He popped the top on his soda, took a long swig.

"That must be hard, with your son."

"Actually, it works out alright. Lori does a typical nine-to-five..."

Michonne assumed Lori was Carl's mother. Rick hadn't mentioned her by name before.

"And her husband works the night shift a lot, so between the three of us, Carl is always taken care of."

"Your wife is remarried," she stated rather than asked.

"Yeah," he said, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. "For a couple years now."

Based on his casual, matter-of-fact tone, Lori remarrying didn't bother him. Not that she could blame him, if it did. He'd been with her for years, created a child with her... But the more she got to know him, the more it seemed like Rick's past marriage was entirely that: the past. She let herself feel good about that.

"What's the guy like?"

"He's mostly nice. I guess. I don't know him very well," he admitted. "Carl likes him, though. A lot. I almost never hear the end of it."

Michonne smirked. He may not have been jealous of his wife's new husband, but he _was_ envious of his son's new dad.

"And how do you feel about that?" She teased.

Rick laughed. Both of them knew there was a correct way to answer that question, and an honest way.

"As long as he's good to my kid, then I'm fine with it," he began, taking the correct route. He brought his Coke up to his lips and she eyed him playfully.

"Most of the time," he confessed quickly. She chuckled while he took a long drag from his soda.

"What can I say?" He said. "I'm only human."

That, he was.

And by her estimate, he was a human who loved his child more than anything. She could see it on his face every time he talked about Carl. She'd used that fact to help paint a picture of Rick in her mind. A picture she used to get a grasp on the kind of man he was.

"Is that why Carl lives with them, and not you? Because there's two of them?"

"No, uh… We made that decision right after we separated. I wanted -" He stopped, corrected himself. " _We_ wanted the whole thing to just be easy for him. Not Wednesdays with me and Fridays with her, and his mom and dad never speaking to each other again. And with my job, him living with me ain't the most practical thing."

"So he stays with his mom and you all just...take it day by day?"

"We try damn hard," he said. "Lori and I, we just try to respect each other, try to be...friendly. Whatever the hell that means for two people who were married for fifteen years."

"It sounds like it's working so far." She said. She remembered him saying the previous night that him and Carl were close.

"So far. I'm close by, that helps. But at the end of the day, nothing could ever keep me and Carl apart. Not a thousand miles. Not a judge. Not Lori. Not that she'd even want to."

Michonne nodded her head in understanding. And surprise. Very rarely did former spouses swallow their own history and choose their children over their egos.

"'Course, in a couple years, he ain't gonna want to be around either one of us. So we'll see where things go from there." He joked.

She shook her head in amusement. "Until then, consider me impressed."

"Thank you," he said. His tone revealed that her compliment was important to him, yet it seemed like his mind was already moving on to something else. He had locked eyes with her. She could see so much going on behind those blue spheres. He looked primed and ready to say - or do - something to her that would derail their conversation and knock her off balance.

But before she knew it, he had broken the eye contact. Leaving her feeling a fraction relieved, but mainly yearning for more.

He was very good at doing that to her.

* * *

"So," Michonne began. "What did you want to talk about?"

He looked at her for a moment before speaking. When he'd asked to talk, he had just wanted to make it clear that he wasn't trying to get her up against the nearest hard surface again.

Unless, of course, she wanted that.

"Not a whole hell of a lot, I guess," he said. "I wanted to see you."

"Feeling high and dry?" She ventured a guess, a playful note in her voice.

Rick couldn't keep from smiling at that. "That's...not the reason."

"Well," she began, absently rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. "If we're going to talk, we _could_ start there."

"Probably," he agreed. He met her gaze. "You know, I didn't plan for that to happen. I wasn't trying to... I know you didn't want to go to bed with me last night, and that's all good…"

He finished the last of his drink, then continued.

"That's why I left like that. I just needed to...pull in the reigns."

"I get that," Michonne said, sounding like she'd had the same struggle. "Rick, it's not that I didn't want to be with you. I just needed a little space to think."

Rick nodded his head, waited for her to go on.

"It's hard to think when you're around. And I could feel things getting away from me pretty quick, and I don't want to start something that…" She trailed off and looked away from him, seeming unsure of what she wanted to say. "I guess, I don't know what I want out of this."

Rick scooted a little closer to her.

"Hey, neither do I," he offered. It wasn't true. He knew what he wanted with her the moment he asked her to go on a date with him. And it wasn't just sex… "Hell, Michonne, the last time I dated someone, I was in high school," he confessed. "I've got no idea what I'm doing here."

"I think you're doing alright." She looked at the clock on the cable box on top of her TV. "We should probably head out, beat the lunch rush."

"Yeah," he agreed. They both stood from the couch. Michonne grabbed her bag - the same one from the day on the subway - and produced a jingling key ring and a small wallet. She headed for the front door and Rick followed, enjoying her profile and the way her hair hung down around her shoulders.

He wasn't sure why he told her what he did next. Something about her presence just made him want to open up. He felt comfortable sharing anything with her, even if it made him look ridiculous.

"You know...today was my day off."

"Oh..?" She stopped and turned around, looking confused as to why he would tell her that.

"I wasn't in Atlanta for work. I didn't have work," he explained. He'd been at the hospital with his son, being largely ignored in favor of Carl's GameBoy - something no mere mortal could compete with - when he'd decided to give Michonne a call. Work had sounded like an easy excuse to see her when they were on the phone. Then he'd realized he had to stick with it, and so he'd stopped home to shave and change into his uniform before heading out.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you, but I didn't want to seem...I don't know...desperate." She didn't speak, so he went on. "I thought it looked better if I was just in the neighborhood, you know?"

She stared at him with the most mysterious expression, he almost thought he had upset her by lying earlier. Then, she tossed her keys and wallet onto the coffee table, reached out to grab a hold of his hand, and pulled him around in the opposite direction.

For a very, very short moment, he dumbly thought she was going to give him a tour. _Weird time for a tour_. But he quickly realized that she had a specific destination. There was a door on each side of the back hallway. She opened the one on the right and brought him inside her bedroom. It was small and comfortable with a sleek-looking dresser, a few paintings on the walls, and a nice-sized bed in the center. Her bed sat on a frame of dark wood with a matching slatted headboard, and it was made up with a mess of white and cream-colored pillows and blankets. Sunlight poured in from the windows, bathing the bed and floor.

That was all he had time to take in, as Michonne shut the bedroom door and lunged at him. He didn't know what exactly had gotten into her, but when she pressed her full, soft lips against his and slid her fingers into his hair, he didn't give a damn. He snaked his arms around her waist and melted into her, following her lead as she deepened the kiss. Without breaking apart, he slowly walked her back toward her bed until he felt the backs of her thighs hit the mattress. He slipped his hands down past her waist, filling them with her ass cheeks.

She pulled back to get a better look while she unbuttoned his shirt. "So you wore this just for me, huh?" She asked, breathing heavy.

He had, but only for consistency's sake. "Do you like it?"

She ignored the question, undoing his last button and crushing her mouth against his again. He slid his tongue into her mouth while both of them worked to get his shirt down his arms.

"Do you like it?" He persisted. She wouldn't answer, but he could feel her smirking as her lips trailed down to his chest. He'd take that as a yes.

He reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head, then went straight for her bra hook. Under other circumstances, he may have stopped to appreciate the way the black lace garment cupped her supple breasts. In fact, in his fantasies, he took his time, drinking in every inch of her body. Playing it like an instrument and making it sing.

But, it had been since his divorce - long before, actually - that he'd been with someone. And the person he'd been lusting after for the past two days was with him now, her lush tits pressed against him while she suckled at his Adam's apple. He was ravenous. But he could tell Michonne was too, and didn't think she'd have any problem with him getting her on her back with her legs in the air as soon as possible.

She confirmed that assumption when she slid her hand between his legs, where she found him stiff and straining against his pants. "Oh God, Rick," she moaned, and began slowly massaging him up and down with the palm of her hand. He dropped his head back, and he could feel her unzipping him and tugging the material down his legs. At the same time, she dropped to her knees. Next went his briefs. When they were around his ankles, his cock stood to attention. Hot skin, swollen head. He could feel her breath on him. Michonne took his tip into her mouth without using her hands, and his knees almost buckled.

He tilted his head to the side to get a better look at her while she worked at him. Slowly, more and more of his cock disappeared between her lips. When she pulled back, he got a glimpse of her tongue. She eased into a rhythm, but he could only endure it for a few seconds.

"Ah...ah...stop, stop," he whispered.

He guided her to lay back on the bed. He unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off, tossing them behind his back. Kneeling on the mattress, he placed his palms over her knees and spread them wide open. He bent down and pressed his face against her core, over her underwear. She bucked against the sudden sensation. He breathed in deep, recognizing the same glorious scent that had been on his fingers last night.

Rick pulled that last strip of material off of her, then shook his own pants and underwear off of his ankles, and laid down on top of her. Her hard nipples poked deliciously against his chest. She opened her mouth for him and he pushed his tongue inside. Her hands grappled at his waist and backside, trying to create more friction. In response, he adjusted his position so the underside of his cock rested between her lips, and he began to rock lazily against her.

They continued to make out that way, hands wandering, Rick rubbing himself against her wet center, until Michonne reached up over her head to the drawer of her nightstand. As she fumbled to grab hold of what he assumed would be protection, he took advantage of her open, exposed breasts. He caught one in his mouth, and massaged the other with his hand. They were perfect - shapely and impossibly soft. He could've gotten lost in them for days.

She soon produced a condom from the drawer and handed it to him. He sat up on his knees, his cock glistening from her juices, and tore open the wrapper. He levered his body over hers when he was protected, and kissed her. She kissed back ardently. He felt one of her hands leave his waist and slide into his hair, holding him to her. With their mouths pressed together, he adjusted his position and carefully guided himself inside her.

Michonne whimpered, spreading her legs to accommodate him better. Meanwhile, inhuman noises escaped his own throat. He couldn't seem to stop them as he pulled out of her, and plunged back inside. On this thrust, he felt her began to convulse around him. He went still inside her, watching her face contorting. She was climaxing just from him being inside her. _Shit._

It took everything in him to maintain his composure while her body gripped and stroked him. As she came down, he dropped kisses onto her trembling body - her forehead, her shoulders, her collarbones. "You're incredible," he moaned. He held himself up on one elbow while using the opposite hand to feel her body, starting at her thigh, then working his way up to her breast, where he lingered.

Only a few moments later, her legs were rubbing against his hips, urging him to continue. "Fuck me, Rick. Fuck me -"

Not needing to be told twice, he began driving into her with long, powerful strokes. He was becoming less and less interested in making it last or savoring her, instead striving for the release he craved. The release they both craved. He lowered his forehead down to hers, let his lips hover above hers, but didn't kiss her.

Michonne's eyes were squeezed shut. She bit her lower lip - hard, it looked like. Her breasts bounced back and forth in tandem with the rhythm he was pounding between her legs. He felt her grip his butt and pull him against her.

"Deeper," she whined.

His self control snapped like a rubber band. He pulled out completely, and repositioned one of her legs up on his shoulder before pushing back in. Then, he lowered his body again, forcing her knee up around her head, spreading her wide open as he dove inside. Michonne all but screamed.

Their lips grazed together, but their movements were too frenzied for any sustained contact. They cried out openly into each others' mouths. That, and the sound of their wet bodies colliding, had to have been some of the sweetest music Rick had ever heard.

It wasn't long before he felt small tremors coming off her body, something he was quickly coming to recognize as an immediate precursor to her orgasms. Meanwhile, the tension in him rose to an unbearable peak, so acute it was almost painful. When he came, it was so powerful that he didn't think his body could contain the sensation. He could have sworn it spilled from him, spreading onto the sheets and the floorboards. He hadn't been able to wait for her, but shortly after, he felt her coming around him. Making his own climax that much stronger.

Afterward, Rick laid on his back, slowly regaining his sanity. Michonne was on her stomach, one hand resting on his abdomen. Both of them were awake, but kept their eyes closed.

Sun continued to stream into the bedroom. It smelled like sex. The air conditioner - which he was wholly grateful for - could be heard kicking on and off.

A long while passed, then she spoke to him. "You said you haven't been with anyone since your divorce."

"Mhmm." He affirmed.

"And you got married right out of his school. Did you date anyone before you met your wife?"

Rick shook his head. "No."

"Hmm," Michonne pondered.

"What?"

"It's interesting."

"That I've never been with anyone but my wife? Why's that?" He knew where she was going, but wanted to hear her say it anyway.

"Because you're an incredible fuck." She stated simply. Rick's eyes fluttered open at her unexpectedly crude word choice. He didn't mind. In fact, if he weren't half dead, he would have flipped her over - or not - and fucked her again right then.

"Not so bad yourself." That was an understatement if he'd ever made one. Michonne was so good, she had all but turned him inside out. He trailed one knuckle along her naked arm, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin. She moved her hand from his stomach up to his face, stroking his smooth jaw.

"Do all cops have to shave their face every day?" She asked.

"Depends on the department, but it's pretty standard. My boss is a stickler about it."

"I bet you grow one hell of a beard."

"I wouldn't know."

"You've never let it be? Not even on vacation?"

"Nah. Force of habit." He decided not to mention he hadn't taken a vacation since his divorce. "Maybe, next time, you come with me, I'll be more inclined to keep it."

"And where are we vacationing?" She played along.

"After today? Your bed. Or mine." She laughed into her pillow while Rick lifted his arm to check his watch. Their lovemaking, mind blowing as it had been, lasted only about fifteen minutes. And he suddenly remembered that he had come here for another reason entirely.

"Do you still want lunch?" He asked, looking over at her. "We probably have enough time." Michonne eyed his body up and down, then reached up and grabbed the headboard, using it for leverage as she rose over top of him. She firmly straddled his hips and kissed him full on the mouth, her locks cascading down around his face.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she murmured.

While she went to work on his earlobe, he cupped his hands around her ass, happy to indulge another kind of appetite.


	4. Thursday

"I got nothing to work with here," Rick said, standing in Michonne's living room again.

"I don't believe that." She called from the kitchen.

"Vampires, aliens... _birds_ for Chrissake." He fingered through Michonne's DVD collection only to find one cheesy horror flick after another. Nothing he would enjoy.

Not that it mattered, he was just teasing her. He was there for the company, not the entertainment. And if his last visit were any indication, her company provided a hell of a lot of entertainment in itself.

"Sorry, Sheriff," she started as she came back to the living room, holding a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a plate of hors d'oeuvres. "You're not going to find any quickdraws at high noon in this apartment."

"There's more to westerns than quickdraws," he said with mock defensiveness. He took the plate from her and set it down on the coffee table.

"And there's more to _Piranha_ than people getting eaten alive when they could have avoided it just by staying out of the damn water." She worked a screw into the cork of the wine bottle and popped it open.

"Okay. I could probably handle...a haunted house." He conceded.

She gave him a pleased smile and grabbed a movie off the shelf.

After making love a second time yesterday afternoon, Michonne had hastily dressed and informed Rick that she was late to get back to work. They shared a lingering kiss in her doorway, then she invited Rick to drive out tonight for dinner and a movie - _at home_. He'd jumped on the offer eagerly, rushing to her place as soon as he'd finished his shift and stopped home for a shower.

He walked up behind her as she put the disc in the DVD player, resting his hands on her waist and dropping a few kisses on her shoulder. He could feel her relax into him, and he wrapped his arms around her midsection to pull her closer.

"What's for dinner?" He asked.

"Pizza's coming."

"You shouldn't have gone out of your way," he joked. He felt her laugh. God, he wanted to be inside her again. Just like this. Entering her from behind while her lush bottom pressed into him.

"Most nights, I just get take out from the deli. You're lucky to be getting something hot."

"No much of a cook, huh?" he said as he moved his lips from her shoulder up to her neck. Her skin was so soft, and she smelled so good.

"Slicing cheese and pouring wine is about the extent of my-"

Michonne's fingers stalled at the buttons of the DVD player when he slid both of his hands up her torso to firmly squeeze her breasts. A moan escaped his throat at the feel of them in his grasp.

"Rick, wait," she whispered. He indulged in one more squeeze, then backed away from her, putting significant distance between them.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head at how easily his libido had gotten the better of him. He picked up the wine bottle and filled both glasses. As much as his body was screaming to be with her again, he had no intentions of rushing their time together.

He sat down on the couch and after getting the movie set up, she joined him. At the other end. "Do you cook?" She asked.

"I'm competent." Carl often came to stay with him when it wasn't a school night, and Lori preferred their son didn't live on take out, so he had learned to whip up some essentials.

"So you'd be willing to cook for me sometime?"

"Name the time and place. I'm all yours."

He watched her while she flicked through the movie menu with the remote. She looked beautiful tonight. Hair down around her shoulders like usual. Tight jeans. A sleeveless, light grey top. Her skin was glowing. And he couldn't help but notice a satisfied hum in her voice that wasn't there before.

They watched the movie mostly in silence, sneaking glances at each other and sharing smirks at the unbearably campy parts of the plot. About half way through, they had both finished their first glasses of wine.

"Another one?" He asked her, already reaching for the bottle.

"Yes, please."

As he poured the drinks, the doorbell chimed.

"Pizza." Michonne said. "I'll get it."

Rick watched her, blatantly, as she walked out of the room. During the movie, his thoughts had gone from wondering how she'd gotten those pants on, to strategizing how he would get them off. Having her stand was the most practical method. He could kneel in front of her - or behind her - while he slowly peeled the denim from her skin. Of course, laying her down was also an attractive option. For obvious reasons. He wondered how attached she was to the jeans and if she would object to him ripping them in half with his hands.

His musing were interrupted when heard Michonne's hushed, tense voice coming from down the hall.

"...isn't the time…"

Definitely not paying for a pizza.

"...return my calls…" A different voice. A man.

He pretended to mind his own business, giving them both a good size refill of wine and settling back into the couch. He tried to focus his attention on the movie - not really - but voices continued to carry into the living room.

"...can't keep doing this…"

"...so easy for you, Michonne…"

It didn't take a cop to figure out who Michonne's visitor was. Showing up at close to ten o'clock, whining about phone calls he thought he was entitled to, refusing to leave. That had ex-boyfriend written all over it.

Or, possibly, current boyfriend. Maybe a lover. Rick tried not to let that possibility bother him.

He and Michonne didn't have a commitment, naturally, but it didn't sound right to him that she would be seeing other men as well as him. He didn't get that vibe from her. Besides, he'd gone out of his way to tell her that he wasn't involved. That would have been the time to tell him if she was.

"...call somebody for you…" Michonne again, sounding sympathetic.

"...there someone in there?"

"...need to leave. Right now."

Rick readied himself to stand, in case Michonne's friend decided to cross the line and try to force his way inside. But, shortly after, he heard the door close, softly, and her footsteps coming down the hall.

She entered the living room with her eyes down. He was waiting to meet her gaze when she lifted them.

"Sorry." She came back to sit down next to him.

"Everything okay?" He asked.

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a few beats, the terrible dialog from the movie filling the space.

"His name is Mike. He's my ex-boyfriend." She explained after a minute.

"Does he know that?"

Michonne nodded her head. "It's been a while. But sometimes...he comes back around."

He could see her working to impart as little information as possible. Fair enough. As long as she wasn't with this guy now, he had no right to pry. But something about the way she spoke left him with one concern.

"Is he a problem?" He met her eyes full on.

"He's harmless." She sounded sincere, and he believed her.

"So, do you want me to rewind? Because you missed some important plot developments." He joked, eager to forget about the interruption and continue with their evening.

"No, I know this one by heart." Clearly, she agreed.

Rick laughed and then turned back to the TV, placing his arm up on the back of the sofa. When Michonne had come to sit down, she sat in the middle of the sofa instead of the other end. She was perfectly within his reach. His fingers itched to caress her smooth shoulders. But before he could move a muscle, the doorbell rang again.

She let out a sigh and stood up, obviously fearing that Mike had turned around and come back.

"You got this?"

"Yeah." She assured, and went to the front door.

* * *

When Michonne opened the door, she had been pleasantly surprised to find not Mike, but the pizza delivery boy. A cute, Asian guy with a red baseball cap and a genuine smile. They enjoyed their food while they finished the film, then fell into comfortable conversation.

"So then, Shane parks the car in the chicken pen. He opens up a bag of seed on the seat, rolls down all the windows, and runs back to school."

"It was three miles away!" She argued incredulously, as Rick told her the tale of how Shane had once stolen their high school principal's beloved car.

"Mhmm. And he gets back before the bell."

"Then what?"

"Then he goes up to Principal Kingsley and says, 'Your coupe's gone.'"

He looked at her expectantly, like there was a punch line she was supposed to be picking up on. Then it dawned on her.

"Like chicken coop." She said, and burst into laughter. "Sounds like Shane was quite the cut up."

"Oh, yeah. Still is. Back then, I used to live for his stories. About cars, parties, girls… I didn't have any of my own, of course."

"Really?"

"Don't tell me you're surprised."

She was. She hadn't pegged him as the unpopular, obscure type at any stage in life. Now, he carried himself with confidence and authority. And he was sexy enough to make her go weak in the knees several times that night alone.

He licked his lips every time he took a sip of wine. He mindlessly stroked the bowl of the glass with his thumb. Crinkles formed around his eyes every time he laughed - light and throaty - at one of the more outlandish parts of their movie. The denim shirt he'd worn was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a few stray golden hairs.

The fact that he only seemed mildly cognizant of the effect he had on her made him all the more attractive.

"A little bit," she admitted.

"What about you?" He changed the subject. "I bet everyone loved you in high school."

He wasn't exactly wrong. She had no shortage of casual friendships or well-meaning suitors, but for the most part, she kept to herself. She focused on her studies and her athletics. She came out of her shell more when she went off to college. She joined a sorority, dated frequently, and even had a handful of fantastic, drunken nights she'd probably never remember.

After graduation, she formed a close circle of friends through her activism, all of them tightly bound by a shared desire and passion to change the world for the better. They were scattered all over the place now, most of them having put their quest to protect the Earth and its peoples on the back burner in order to start families, embark on career paths, or just to pay the rent. But they kept in touch.

"Mmm...I was mostly a loner. I spent a lot of time on schoolwork and sports."

"Which sports?" He asked.

"Basketball in the winter, track in the spring."

"Do you still do it?" He lifted his wine glass to his lips.

"I run sometimes. Mostly, I like yoga now." He stopped mid-drink at that last part, looking distracted, and then set his glass down slowly.

"Nice," he said without looking at her.

She could tell where his mind was going with that. She might have laughed, except this was the hardest part of trying not to think about having sex with him - she knew he was thinking about it, too. She knew she could make a move at any moment and he would reciprocate with enthusiasm and fervor, giving her whatever she asked for, as many times as she asked. Over and over and over.

She had invited Rick to her place that night with intention of taking a step back from their previous encounter, and getting to know him better. And she had. But she had also counted on yesterday calming her desire for him.

It hadn't.

In fact, it seemed to have only opened the floodgates. Despite enjoying their evening so far, vivid memories of his hard cock sliding into her, his wet tongue filling her mouth, his moans in her ear were consuming her thoughts with increasing frequency. She was almost certainly soaked through her jeans by now.

"Michonne," Rick snapped her out of her daze, his eyes now boring into hers. "What were you thinking about just now?"

"Nothing," she lied. She placed one arm up on the back of the sofa, picking at the fabric with her fingers.

His expression had changed, and his conversational tone turned husky.

"Was it about me?"

"Maybe."

Rick inched sideways on the couch to get closer to Michonne. Then he reached up to the back of the sofa, and barely intertwined his fingers with hers.

"Was it good?" He asked.

"Definitely."

He leaned over, as though he were going to kiss her full on the lips. She welcomed it, but at the last second he shifted and pressed his lips to her cheek. Then her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, back to her neck again. When he flicked his tongue against the skin there, her pulse skyrocketed.

Her fingers crept into the hair and the nape of his neck. He scooted closer and brought one hand to her waist, caressing the small patch of exposed skin between the bottom of her top and her waistband. He continued like that, giving her the barest amount of contact, and seeming infuriatingly content to do just that for the rest of the night.

When she couldn't take his teasing touches anymore, she maneuvered until they were face to face, then crushed her mouth against his. Rick fell into her rhythm immediately, slipping his tongue into her mouth, and running his hands over her back.

Needing more friction, she pushed him onto his back and settled between his legs, starting in on his incredible mouth again. He quickly slid both hands from her back down to her ass, kneading roughly. She pulled back slightly, giving attention to just his bottom lip, then the top lip, then moving down to his neck. She tasted the skin there, nibbled his jaw, sucked his earlobe. All the while Rick's breathing became heavier, and his fondling became more urgent.

"I want to fuck you again." He whispered in her ear.

His blunt, lustful words hit her in just the right spots. She went to lift herself off of him, but he pulled her back down, bringing her mouth to his again. She indulged in their kiss for a few more seconds before pulling away.

"Wait, wait," she said when his arms locked her in place again. Michonne stood up and yanked her shirt over her head.

Rick caught on quickly, tearing at the buttons on his own shirt while she slipped out of her bra. When both of them were topless, she moved to climb on top of him again but he put out his hands to stop her. Still sitting, he drank in her naked breasts and stomach like he was dehydrated. His hands wandered over her abdomen, then up to the soft mounds on her chest.

He leaned forward and pressed his open mouth to her navel. He peppered her skin with wet kisses before reaching for the buttons of her jeans. After undoing them, he started to slide them down her legs, and she assisted by stepping out. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes. She had had every intention of straddling Rick and taking everything he would give her, and then some, but he was swiftly - and effortlessly, it seemed - gaining control of the situation.

He ran his hands up and down her sides, from the sides of her breasts to her thighs, and back again. She could feel trails of goosebumps left behind wherever he touched her. On a downstroke, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her underwear and jerked them down until they pooled around her feet. She felt one hand snake between her thighs and a long finger dip between her lips.

He groaned and laid his head against her stomach. His locks were unbearably soft on her skin.

"Have you been this wet all night?" He whispered.

He didn't wait for an answer. Instead, he stood up and gripped her wrists. He tugged her around to the side of the sofa and leaned her up against the armrest.

Still in his jeans, he dropped to his knees in front of her naked body. He lifted one of her thighs up onto his shoulder, then eagerly dove into her pussy. At the first drag of his tongue across her clit, she whimpered and a gush of fluid came out of her.

Michonne's heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her blood pumped vigorously through her veins. Her legs turned to jelly as Rick diligently devoured her pussy. Through her own fog, she heard him moan as he lapped at her.

When he coaxed out her clit and began to suckle, she slid one hand into his hair - keeping the other on the sofa for balance - and clenched his curls into her fist, rolling her hips against his face. He seemed to enjoy that, as he slid his hands up around her backside, pulling her closer to him. She was mildly aware that noises were coming from her mouth but she could hardly hear herself. Her senses were too full of the man on his knees for her.

He took a break from his sucking and switched to long, torturously slow licks. Michonne whimpered in frustration, urgently pushing her hips into his face. But he refrained from picking up his pace. After just a few seconds, it was too much for her to take.

"Rick… Rick, please…" She whined.

At her request, he moved back to her sensitive nub.

Michonne cried out when he resumed his sucking, and again when he abruptly slid two fingers inside of her. After two inward strokes, she was done.

She was vaguely aware of Rick eventually lowering her leg off of his shoulder and standing up. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply while she came back down to Earth. After a time, she felt him, now naked, melt against her.

His dick was hot and hard against her hip and despite the orgasm she had just had, she felt the stirrings of desire in her belly again. She would have loved to drop to her knees then and swallow him whole, listening to the sounds he would make while she repaid his favor. But she hadn't yet regained her ability to form sentences, much less mechanical functions. So she relaxed while Rick groped her.

He buried his face in her neck while his hands went to work on her ass, pulling her tight against him. A few moments later, she had the strength to raise her arms and caress his back. Her nerves were so sensitive, every time their skin brushed together, a shiver went through her.

Rick bent over, closing his mouth over one breast for the first time that evening. He swirled his tongue around her nipple, then gently sank his teeth into it, tugging on it as he pulled away. He did the same to the other breast.

"Tell me when you're ready," he murmured, before taking a nipple between his lips again. "I want to bend you over…" His hand traveled down her stomach to play with the curls between her thighs, "...and fuck you against this couch-"

"Now." Michonne interrupted, already moving to turn around for him. "Right now."

He broke away, and she could hear the rustling of his discarded jeans and the crinkling of foil. When he returned to her, he motioned for her to lift one leg up onto the arm of the sofa. He braced one hand on her hip, and seconds later she felt him sliding into her.

He stilled once he was buried all the way inside, and let out a groan.

"You feel so good," he whispered.

She moaned in agreement. This position was revealing a whole slew of sensitive spots in her. Rick's cock felt harder, and larger. On top of that, aroused words and noises had been streaming out of his mouth non-stop. She was so worked up, she wanted to scream. Bending further over the couch, she used the back cushion to balance herself. She urged her hips back against him.

"Rick, fuck me. I want it, baby."

He began a slow and steady pace, keeping one hand on her waist and exploring her body with the other. He coasted over her back and stomach, cupped her breast, tweaked her nipple. He slid his fingers around to cradle her face, and Michonne caught one digit in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around it, savoring the saltiness of his skin. He groaned and pushed a second finger between her lips.

His thrusts came quicker and harder while she suckled his flesh; going from firm, controlled strokes to frantically crashing his hips into her buttocks. Their bodies slapped together deliciously, and neither of them could hold back their cries of pleasure. When she began whimpering his name, he clamped one hand down over her wrist on the sofa, and gripped her other arm tightly.

"Shit," he muttered, and effectively held her in place while he drove into her. He dominated their movements and their pace, while she greedily received everything he gave her, all the way until her body spasmed and her mind went white with pleasure. Rick reached his orgasm with her, and the two of them stood slumped against the side of the sofa for a while, catching their breath and trying to make their limbs cooperate.

Somehow, they made it to the couch. It was too small for them both of them to lay comfortably, but they tried anyway. And with Rick's naked body flush against her back, his warm breath on her neck, his strong arm wrapped firmly around chest, Michonne fell into a deep, restful sleep.

What must have been hours later, Michonne's eyes opened to a fully clothed Rick, kneeling by the sofa and gently coaxing her awake. When he saw her eyes were open, he lowered his head and kissed her cheek.

"I gotta get home, I have work in the morning." His voice was raspy from sleep. It made her want to pull him back down onto the sofa with her and never let him leave. Instead, she mumbled out what she hoped sounded like, 'I had a good time.'

He smiled. "Me, too." He looked like he was about to stand, then hesitated. He lifted his arm and rested his palm on her bare upper back.

"Do you have plans tomorrow?" He inquired.

She shook her head.

"Maybe you'd like to come out to my place. I'll cook you that dinner, and…" He trailed off, not needing to elaborate any further. She liked the sound of that. After receiving her groggy acceptance, he gave her one last kiss, then stood. His shoes made a satisfying thump on the wood floors as he walked toward the front hallway.

"Lock up behind me," he called, before the door closed softly.


	5. Friday

Michonne drove out to Rick's place after work that day, arriving promptly at seven o'clock. He answered the door in a button-up, dark jeans, and a pair of boots. His hair was still been damp from a shower around his nape, and his mouth tasted like apples.

"Sparkling cider," he explained when he pulled back from their hello kiss.

"A nice change of pace," she said.

"Yeah, I wanted to stay sharp tonight."

"Oh?" She cocked her head to the side playfully. "And why's that?"

Rick just smiled and kissed her again, softly. "Come on, let me give you a tour."

His home was mostly what she had expected for a simple man like Rick. And for a divorced cop with a child to help provide for. It was a modest, cottage-style bungalow with a spacious front porch, low-pitched roof, and simple white siding. She'd seen many other houses like it in his neighborhood. The front door opened up into the living room and dining area, and the kitchen stacked right behind. The open floor plan allowed her to see clear out of the back of the house, where the back door was propped open.

"My A.C. is out of commission," he explained. "Have to keep the air flowing."

Michonne didn't respond as she took in the details of each room. Warm, neutral colors in the living room. Mahogany cabinets and bronze fixtures in the kitchen. Scuffed, well-worn wood floors that creaked when they walked on them.

"If you get warm..." he paused, deliberately looking her up and down. "Let me know." For that evening, she'd decided on a lime green halter dress - one which hugged her chest and flowed loose around her calves - and short, strappy black heels. It was a great choice for the stuffy weather, and she'd had a feeling Rick would like it, too. His expression showed she was right.

The rest of the house consisted of two rooms, besides the bathroom. Rick's bedroom was mostly barren - a double bed in the center, a single night stand with a lamp, a dresser, and a cozy-looking arm chair in the corner.

She took her time there, appreciating it, imagining him going about his day-to-day activities in it. In the morning, after a shower, he'd come back here. Wet and clean, with a towel tucked ever so loosely around his waist. And at night, when she went to bed thinking of him, this is where he was. Under the blankets, sleeping peacefully. She guessed he liked to sleep in his underwear and old t-shirt. Of course, with this weather, he probably forewent the shirt.

Maybe the underwear, too.

Carl's room was equally sparse, containing only his bed, a small dresser, and a desk with a reading lamp, where Michonne guessed he did his homework. On top of the blue plaid bedspread laid a beaten up baseball glove and a grey hooded sweatshirt.

She was quickly learning Rick didn't have much of a flare for interior design.

"Your house is beautiful," she said, and he smiled his appreciation. "But we have _got_ to get you some decoration. A plant, a painting, _something_."

Rick shook his head in amusement. His mom had told him the same thing countless times. "Please...anything but a plant. I can't bear to watch it's inevitable death." They left Carl's room and returned to the family area, where Michonne's attention was drawn to the dining table. Rick had set out plates, napkins, silverware, and even lit a couple of candles.

"So what's on the menu this evening?" She asked.

"Actually, I just thought of something…" He looked at her apologetically. " I should have asked you before. But...I hope you eat red meat."

"On the right occasion."

"What qualifies?"

"Weddings, work functions, any time someone else is paying the bill, and...any time a beautiful man is offering to cook me dinner."

Rick nodded. "And, purely out of curiosity...how often does that last one happen?"

"Not enough."

That night's meal consisted of steak and grilled potatoes. And much to Michonne's delight, Rick was more than competent in the kitchen. He carried on full conversations with her while he chopped and sliced, pausing occasionally to wipe up spills or pour them another glass of cider.

After dinner, Rick had suggested they go for a walk to escape the stuffiness in the house. They meandered through the mostly deserted streets of Mansfield, side by side, shoulders grazing every now and again. He showed Michonne his favorite farm market, the church he went to as a kid, a baseball diamond where Carl liked to play…

"And that's where I went to high school," he pointed at a building on a grassy hill in the distance. It was small, but nice-looking with clean, crisp brick and mortar, and tall, arching windows. Clearly, some renovations had been done in the near-twenty years since Rick had attended. Out front, a Georgia state flag hung limp around its pole, undisturbed by the still night air.

Michonne had never had much of an appreciation for small towns, always preferring the vibrant culture and diverse peoples of the big city. But she had to admit, in the moment, the quiet and the fresh air and the clear night sky were...noteworthy.

Or perhaps it was the company that made it so.

"So where does Carl live?" She asked. Rick pointed straight ahead into the distance.

"About six blocks that way."

"Hmm," she mused.

"What?"

"With your ex-wife so close, is it wise to be strolling through town with your…?" She fumbled for the word to describe what she was to him.

Rick noticed, and raised his brow in anticipation. "My what?"

"Your date." She finished after a moment. He smirked at her safe choice of words. "She could pop up at any minute."

"Nah," he assured. "It's eight-thirty on a Friday night. 'Most everybody will be home watching Jeopardy re-runs." He casually slipped his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers. "The world is ours."

* * *

"It'll be a challenge, with work. But if I take classes over the summer semester, I'll be able to finish faster than most other people in the part-time program."

"Will you still be working these same kinds of hours?" Rick asked.

"No, I'll have to scale back," she said, sounding slightly disappointed. "But it's not always this busy, anyway. We just have a heavy caseload right now."

 _I'll say_ , Rick thought to himself. He was surprised she had been able to come out to his place so early tonight. By his estimation, she seemed to be working twelve-hour days and nights regularly.

The fact that she'd made time for him every day that week, despite her schedule, wasn't lost on him.

"I'm glad I could get in on the ground floor," he said. "Pretty soon, you'll be untouchable."

"Mhm. I thought my social life was pathetic already. Soon it'll be non-existent."

"Well, just remember when it's late and you're tired and burnt out from studying and...sexually frustrated...I'm your man," he stated. She grinned and shook her head.

"It may not seem tempting now," he continued. "But you just wait and see."

Michonne slowed their pace until they were stopped. "Oh, it's...definitely tempting."

Feeling deprived at not having kissed her since she first arrived, Rick lowered his head and pressed his lips to hers. Softly, at first, then more urgently. Her hands came up to rest on either side of his face and she melded her body against his.

"I liked having you in my house," Rick said when he pulled away. "In my room."

"I liked being there."

"In my head, you've already been there a dozen times," he confessed. Michonne held his gaze for a moment.

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"Oh, yeah. I've dreamt about you every night this week." He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "The night after the bar was the worst. I could have put somebody's eye out the next morning."

In this moment, he felt himself rapidly approaching the same state of body. It had been a good call, laying off the alcohol that night. The previous evening, his multiple glasses of wine had muddled his brain a bit, and he'd felt it in his pants, too. Not that the sex hadn't been great anyway. But he wanted to give her his absolute best.

"And how does reality compare to your dreams?" She asked.

"Knocks 'em out of the water. So far," he added deliberately.

"So far."

"Well, I don't have a direct comparison for…" He paused and turned his eyes up, rummaging through the images in his head. "Quite everything."

"I'm open to suggestions," Michonne slid one hand down the the middle of his chest, aimlessly picking at one of his buttons.

"Alright. We could start with..." He cut himself off as an idea came to him. "Better yet…follow me," he said, taking her hand again and breaking into a brisk stride as they crossed the street. He took them down one more small block, then turned the corner and headed toward a meager looking playground. Nothing but a rusty slide and a pair of swings. There were other, newer playgrounds in the area. This one was mostly abandoned.

He passed the weathered equipment and followed a narrow dirt path that flowed through a thick patch of green magnolia trees. After a few yards, they entered a clearing, in the middle of which sat a very precarious-looking picnic table and a burnt out fire pit. The purpose of the secluded spot was so glaringly obvious, he almost laughed. Michonne turned to him.

"I thought you wanted to fuck me in your bedroom," she said, picking up on his intentions right away.

"I do. And I will. But it's at least a twenty minute walk back."

She walked over to the picnic table and ran her fingertips across the surface. Checking for splinters, he assumed. Then she gave it a firm shove. It remained standing. "How do you even know about this place? Don't tell me you brought your dates here in high school."

"No," he said, undoing the top couple buttons on his shirt. "I didn't have any, remember? Shane used to bring girls here. Never got caught."

Rick advanced on her, and she turned to face him head on. He cupped her face with both hands and lowered his mouth to hers. Her arms snaked around his waist and pulled him closer. He deepened their kiss, holding her face firmly against his and slipping his tongue into her mouth.

After a moment, he slipped his hands from her face down to palm both of her breasts. Her nipples soon began to poke insistently through the fabric. He massaged them roughly while he reveled in the taste of her mouth. Meanwhile, Michonne went to work on the rest of his shirt buttons.

"You sure no one will see us?" She asked when he moved his lips down to suckle at her neck. "You could get in trouble."

"I'm sure. If they do, I'll arrest them. For cockblocking."

Her laugh turned into a hiss when he sank his teeth into her shoulder. With his shirt completely undone, she lightly raked her nails across his back.

"Tell me about your dream," she whispered.

He turned them around so he was leaning against the picnic table, and she was settled between his legs. "In my favorite one," he began without hesitation. "You're on top of me, and you're riding me. Hard."

He lifted his head to meet her eyes, and reached down to the hem of her dress, pulling it up slowly.

"You're so wet, and it's getting all over me...feels so good…" He murmured as he dropped his mouth to hers again. With her dress bunched up around her waist, he went to hook his fingers into her underwear, but found nothing but smooth, soft skin.

He thought back to their evening up until that point. Kissing her hello, showing her his place, dinner, walking through town. The knowledge that she had been pantyless through all of it made him ravenous. He moaned into her mouth while fervently groping her bare ass. He spread her cheeks apart, dipping his fingers in between them, sliding down further and further until he found her sopping wet center.

"Please tell me you have a condom," she begged.

"In my wallet."

She reached around to his back pocket while he undid his belt. "Do you always carry this around?"

"Only since a hot paralegal invited me to her apartment for an afternoon delight," he quipped. Truthfully, he'd had it there for a while. For no particular reason. And it was a good thing, too. He wasn't sure either of them would have been able to resist regardless.

"You invited yourself."

"Semantics." He dropped his pants to his ankles, and shrugged his shirt off and onto the picnic table before pushing himself on top. Michonne followed shortly after, the hem of her dress tickling his thighs as she straddled him.

He grabbed a hold of her hips and urged her down onto him. His hardness slid deliciously into her softness, creating a hot friction that was almost too much to bear. When he was all the way inside, sensation began to waft over his entire body. Above him, Michonne moaned and gripped his shoulders for leverage.

"That feel good?" She teased.

"You're on fire."

She began to find her rhythm, rising off of him slowly and then pushing back down with force, moaning loudly each time their bodies collided.

When she leaned down to kiss him, Rick took the opportunity to untie the string at the base of her neck which held her dress in place. When she sat up, the garment came falling down to her waist, exposing her beautiful chest to his greedy eyes and hands. He cupped both mounds in his hands and tweaked her nipples.

"Rick," she whined, grabbing his hands and holding them to her breasts while she sped up her movements. Honestly, he wasn't contributing much. In this position, on this surface, he was powerless to do much except take the fucking she was giving him. Which was fine with him.

He watched, transfixed, as she rode him up and down, pleasuring herself with his body. He tried to keep quiet, but once the noises started coming, he couldn't stop them.

"Oh, fuck...fuck…" He said between groans. He slid his hands under her dress to grip her thighs. He squeezed them firmly, feeling the power of her body. "Fuck me...fuck me…"

* * *

Several hours and orgasms later, the two of them laid sprawled across Rick's disheveled bed sheets. By this time, their breathing had slowed. The temperature outside had lowered, and the air from the open windows cooled their warm bodies. Lying face down, with an arm and a leg draped over Rick's back, the contentment floating around Michonne was nothing short of exquisite.

"I don't know how I'm going to function at work tomorrow," Rick's muffled, groggy voice broke into the stillness of the dark room.

"Hmm, that's your own fault. I would never go for a third round if I had work in the morning," she joked. "It's all about priorities."

"Oh, my priorities are straight. Besides, I'm working a later shift."

"So you'll be getting off pretty late?"

"Yeah. Around midnight."

"I guess I'll just have to go a day without your attentions, then," She feigned upset, though truthfully, she was somewhat disappointed at knowing she'd be spending her Saturday night without him.

"Not necessarily," he countered. "Remember what I said. I'm the guy to fulfill all your sexual needs. One call away." He added a salesman's flare to his last words.

"Oh, okay," she bantered back at him. "I thought that only applied to working grad students."

"Nope. In fact, it only applies to you. If the last few days are any indication, it'll be a mutually beneficial arrangement."

They both went silent for a good while, enjoying the moment, before Rick spoke again.

"You want to know something?" He asked.

"What's that?" She tangled her fingers in his sweat soaked curls.

"That day we first made love… I lied to you."

She looked over at him. His eyes were closed. But buy the tone of his voice, she surmised that his confession wasn't anything to be concerned about. She relaxed and waited for him to continue.

"When I said I didn't know what I wanted out of this, that wasn't true. I knew exactly what I wanted when I asked you to go out with me."

"Well, had you told me you wanted to do what we just did, you might have scared me off," she replied. "Maybe."

Rick smiled, eyes still shut, but sobered quickly. "That's not what I mean. I want to be with you. Not just this. All of it. I think I knew it the second I saw you."

Michonne never responded. She didn't have to. Within less than a minute, she felt Rick's breathing even out as he settled into sleep.

And she, suddenly, was wide awake.


	6. Saturday

The first thing Rick registered that morning was his nose buried inside Michonne's hair. Next, her butt nestled against his groin. Her legs tangled intimately with his. His arm under her cool pillow, numb from lack of circulation.

From her breathing, he could tell she was still sleeping. Careful not to wake her too abruptly, he slipped his arm out from underneath her, and flexed it over his head to restore feeling to it.

He squinted against the sunlight bathing the room when he opened his eyes, and propped himself up to look down at Michonne. This was his first time waking up with her. It was nice, to say the least. Comfortable. Soothing. He slid a hand over her exposed shoulder, so soft and smooth that it reflected the sun rays. He dropped a kiss there. Then moved to her neck.

She gradually began to stir, and Rick nuzzled deeper into the crook of her neck. As expected, she tried to pull away from the ticklish intrusion, but he hooked an arm around her waist and kept her in place. Only when she was giggling and pleading with him did he relent.

Eventually, she turned onto her back and looked up at him.

"Hey," she said, her voice thick and raspy from sleep. He liked that.

"Hey." He laid back down on his side with his pillow wedged between his bicep and his head. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good," she said groggily. "When do you have to get ready for work?"

He reached back over to his nightstand to grab hold of his watch. It was about eleven, he realized with disappointment. "Soon."

They lounged in bed for a while, not saying much, but basking in the stillness of the late morning and each other's company. Killing most of the time he had to spare. But he wouldn't have spent it any other way. He eventually turned to her. "What are you gonna do today?"

"Mm, I don't know." She yawned. "There's a yoga class on weekends, at a park near my place. I like to catch those sometimes. But I think I've gotten enough exercise recently."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. She kissed him back, cupping his face in her hand, then rolled into an upright position.

"I guess I won't keep you any longer," she said, and surveyed the room. "Where's my dress?"

"I think I might have eaten it."

She laughed, then produced the dress out from under the bed. When she moved to stand, he reached a hand out to caress her back.

"Wait a minute," he said softly. She turned her head to look at him. "You didn't say anything last night."

"You fell asleep," she replied, not bothering to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about.

"I'm awake now."

She smirked. "I guess… I'm not sure what to say."

Rick propped himself up on his elbows. "Well, I was hoping you'd say you felt the same way."

She adjusted on the bed to turn her whole body toward him. Her hand reached out and stroked the hair above his temple.

"I want to be with you," she said simply. "You know I do."

"Yeah." He did. "So where's the problem?" He asked, patiently.

"There is no problem." Rick was unconvinced, and didn't try to hide it. Michonne continued. "If you want this, and I want this, and we're saying it, then it's real. It's happening. Just like that."

"You think it's too soon?"

"It's just taken me by surprise, is all."

"Me, too." He tilted his head to one side. "Thought that was a good thing."

A few beats passed. She lifted her left hand up to absently scratch her right shoulder. She grabbed the pillow from her side of the bed and brought it up against her chest, in what he recognized as a clear protective gesture. "You said you haven't been with anyone since your divorce. It's been a while for me, too."

"Mike, right?" She didn't have to say it. He already knew it was.

"The way we ended things… It was hard." He knew that, too. An amicable split didn't create the kind of tension that was in the air a couple nights back, when Michonne had turned him away.

He sat up all the way. "Yeah. I've been there."

"Why did you and your wife split up?"

That was a question he'd asked himself a hundred times. And after all the harsh fights and even harsher silences, the best he could come up with was that, at some point, the people he and his wife had fallen in love with had ceased to exist.

It happened that way sometimes. When people grew up, built careers, had bills, had kids...it changed them. Not for the better or the worse. It was the way things were supposed to go, the way they always would.

"It just didn't make sense for us to be together anymore," he said.

"Well, for me it was different. Ugly."

Oh. He knew all about ugly.

Requesting evening shifts so he could find some relief from the tense atmosphere of his own house. Lori pretending to be asleep when he got home. Him pretending that crashing on the couch night after night was an accident. The knots that tightened in his stomach when they argued, while he clamped down on his own frustrations, trying to be reasonable. The desperate look in his wife's eyes, begging him for something he didn't know how to give her.

"I didn't say it was pretty," he countered.

She met his eyes and nodded once in understanding. There were a lot of things about each other's pasts they didn't know yet. Rick felt so connected to her, so full of her, that he'd almost forgotten that.

"After it ended, I just wanted to forget. I had plenty to distract me. Work, entrance exams. I wasn't even thinking about being with someone again. And I thought, by the time I was ready, I would have already dealt with what happened before."

She paused, eyes darting across his face, as if something about it had distracted her. "But here _you_ are. Right now."

"And you haven't dealt with shit," he surmised.

She laughed, sardonically. "Nope. Not sure how I expected I would, when I did everything to avoid it. Magic, I suppose."

He touched her arm. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," she gave him an apologetic smile. He smiled back.

"So, where are we at then?"

She lowered her pillow. "I want to be with you," she repeated. "I'm just afraid, of old shit coming back and messing up a good thing. I don't want to lose this."

He understood where she was coming from. Letting someone get close could be the scariest thing in the world. If you had someone you cared about, you had something to lose.

He slid off the bed and - stark naked - walked around to her side, getting on his knees in front of her. He planted his palms on the mattress on either side of her. Her lips curled ever so slightly at the sight of him like that.

"I'm not going anywhere," he assured her. "Look, Michonne, I don't know what went down, and you don't need to tell me, but… Your issues. _My_ issues. We can figure it out as we go along. Together."

"And what are your issues?"

"Oh, you'll find out," he promised, only half-joking.

She looked down and covered his hands with hers. She absently rubbed her fingertips over his knuckles. "You're sure of yourself."

"I am."

"How?"

"Gotta be. The idea of losing you isn't as scary as the idea of never getting to have you in the first place."

She nodded, taking in what he'd said. But she didn't seem convinced of the same, herself. Which wasn't unexpected. A five minute conversation probably couldn't fix something that had weighed on her mind for months. Possibly years.

"Maybe we should take a couple of days to cool off," he suggested, though he was hesitant to do so.

Her eyes shot up.

"No. No, Rick, that's not what I meant-"

" _I know_. Me, either," he interrupted, making it clear that he didn't want to stop seeing her. "All I'm saying is… This _did_ happen kind of fast. And we've been together every day. If you need a minute, to think... That's okay."

"It _is_ hard to think when you're around," she conceded.

"Likewise. And sex doesn't exactly have a reputation for encouraging a clear thought."

"Especially sex this good."

"Mhmm." He ran one hand slowly up and down her arm. "So...a couple days?"

"A couple days," she agreed.

Rick stood from his haunches and pressed a long kiss to her forehead.

"I'll get going." Michonne stood up, too, reaching for her dress once again, pulling it over her head.

"You don't have to just yet. I can make us some coffee, some breakfast…"

"We'll save it for next time," she said. And the way she said it, she sounded confident there would be one.

 _A good sign._

Shoes in hand, she approached him and pulled him into a hug. He inhaled her scent before she drew back. She caught his gaze briefly, then left his bedroom without another word.

He heard her grab her keys from the kitchen counter, and the soft open and close of the front door. When her ignition fired up, he headed for the bathroom.

* * *

Michonne entered her apartment early that afternoon, relishing her air conditioned unit. Just the walk from her car to her door was unbearable in the heat and humidity. She discarded her shoes and belongings on her coffee table, and then headed into the bathroom for a cool shower.

As she stood under the spray, she smirked, thinking about what had transpired back at Rick's. He'd been able to quell her apprehensions so easily, she almost laughed. But it was the truth. Whatever damage she thought would be done by her baggage… It didn't have to be that way. She wasn't the person she used to be. Rick wasn't Mike.

What she'd seen in him today was such a contrast from what she'd experienced the last time. Patience instead of neediness. Confidence instead of insecurity. Respect instead of disregard.

She had a sneaking suspicion Rick was becoming the straw that would break the camel's back. She had so many beautiful things ahead of her. Her education, her career, her future. Now, possibly, him. It seemed wasteful to not live every minute of it to the fullest because her past wasn't perfect, or because she hadn't yet been able to bring herself to face that past.

Once she had toweled off and got dressed, she looked at the time on her phone. Two o' clock.

She swiped the screen to get to her Favorites tab, and tapped the very first contact. The one she dialed the most.

After a few rings, a familiar voice came through the line. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mom."

"Hi, honey," her mom perked up at the realization it was her daughter. Michonne's parents didn't have cell phones, or even caller ID on their house phone. Not because they couldn't afford it. They just resisted change. "How are you? I haven't heard from you much this week."

Michonne's folks lived in Dalton, which was almost two hours up north. When she'd first moved back to Georgia, she drove up and stayed with them every weekend. Now, visits were fewer and far between. But she typically called them frequently throughout the week, and _always_ on Saturdays.

"Yeah, it's been a busy few days."

"Listen, I was thinking of doing a Sunday dinner pretty soon. Maybe invite a few of the neighbors. Can you come?"

"Yeah, that sounds great. How's Dad doing?" She asked.

Her mom didn't respond right away. That wasn't a good sign. "It hasn't been the best day."

"What happened?"

"Oh, nothing special. He's just real quiet."

Michonne understood. She moved back to Georgia when her father had gone into the thick of early-onset Alzheimer's. Now, years later, he was progressing steadily into the late stage of his condition. Overall, he still had his good days. But on the bad days - when her mother would ask him too many questions he didn't have the answers to, or when he kept forgetting what happened in the stories he was trying to tell - he would simply clam up, for fear of embarrassing himself.

"But, he's napping now. Sometimes, he feels a little better after that," her mom continued.

"Is he keeping up with his meds?"

"Yeah. Whole lot of good they're doing," she added sarcastically. "For the arm and a leg they cost, they're hardly worth it."

"Mom, if you need -"

"We don't need any help, Michonne." Her mom cut her off. She knew what the answer would be before she opened her mouth. But still...the least she could do was offer. "You've done more than enough."

When her dad got too sick to work, her mom started working overtime to make ends meet, but they still fell short. And while the bills continued to pile up, their errands and the upkeep on their house went to the wayside. Despite their protests, Michonne ultimately came home from California to help them. And for a short while, they actually let her. She cooked, cleaned, did yard work, ran errands, and even wrote a few checks.

But it only lasted until they'd landed on their feet again. She had wanted - and still wanted - to help support them. She had a million reasons why, but her mom wouldn't hear of it. And by now, it had all been said before.

"Okay," Michonne surrendered.

"Alright, then," the older woman responded, clearly a little surprised at how easily her daughter had given up. In the end, Michonne trusted her mother to come to her if she absolutely needed to. Until that day came, she would let the matter rest.

"Mom, there's something I've been wanting to tell you," she began.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I -"

"Please don't tell me you're back together with Mike."

"Mike? Of course, not. I… Well. I did actually run into him the other night."

"Oh. And is he still…?"

"Yeah, he reeked of it."

"Hmm, well...look, I sympathize with him. I really do, but he's not good for you. Not like this." Her mom was the only person who knew the full extent of her history with her ex-boyfriend. "I'll tell you who's good. That guy from your job. The one I met at your office picnic, with the long hair…"

Michonne rolled her eyes. _Zeke_.

"Mom, Ezekiel is my boss," she said, unable to hide her exasperation.

"Oh, alright, fine. It's none of my business."

"Can I please say something?"

"Who's stopping you?"

"The reason I called was… I wanted to tell you... I've decided to go to school again."

Her mom paused.

"What kind of school?"

"Law school."

"Law school," she repeated. "Where?"

"Here, in Georgia."

"Can you afford that?"

"I can take a loan."

"Are you...are you sure you want to?"

"I'm positive."

"You're _sure_ you're not doing it just to make more money and send it up here?"

"I promise."

Her mom was silent for a few beats while she processed the information she'd been given.

"Well...that's fantastic, sweetheart. You're going to be a lawyer! That's what you're going to be, right?"

"Yeah. I think I am." Michonne grinned from ear to ear at the sound of her mother's happiness.

"So, when will you apply?"

"I've already applied, actually...I'm already in."

Silence on the other end, again.

"Why didn't you say something sooner?!" Her mom barked into the phone. Michonne had expected that reaction, but she still had to pull the phone away from her ear.

"I don't know," she said. "Didn't want to jinx it."

"What did you think, they'd rip back your acceptance letter?"

"Mom, come on...I'm telling you now." She pleaded.

"Well, I'm glad you did. _Finally_." And despite the sharp tone, Michonne heard barely contained pride and excitement in her mother's voice.

The two women continued discussing her plans for school, her job, and how she would juggle it all. They talked about new hair products they had each tried. They talked about movies. Michonne deflected about three more inquiries about Zeke. She half-way thought about bringing up Rick, just to end it, but she wasn't looking to get into that now. And like she'd said before: no need to jinx it. So, after an hour and a half, they exchanged their love and said their goodbyes.

"You know, Michonne," her mom added just as she was about to pull the phone from her ear. "This just proves what I've always known. You can have anything you want. All you have to do is reach for it."

* * *

"You be good for your mom, okay?" Rick said as he knelt on the sidewalk and wrapped his son in a bear hug.

"Yeah," Carl mumbled into his shoulder.

"And remember I'm picking you up from school on Wednesday."

"I remember."

"Call me on Monday. Tell me about your first day back."

"I will."

Rick pulled back and looked up into his son's face. He felt his heart swell at the smile that was plastered there. On their lunch break, Rick and Shane had picked up Carl in the squad car and taken him out for hamburgers and milkshakes. They let him turn on the siren - just once - and use the walkie talkie. The kid had a blast. So did Rick and Shane.

"Alright. I'll see you later." He stood up and gave his son's shoulder a squeeze. "I love you."

"Yeah, see you," Carl replied, and walked back toward the house.

Rick let out a sigh of resignation. Carl was now getting to the age where it wasn't cool to tell your dad you loved him anymore.

Rick liked to believe he'd grow out of it someday.

Lori emerged from the front door to greet Carl. She pulled him into an embrace and kissed the top of his head, then let him go inside. She turned to look at Rick, and gave him a curve of the lips and a wave. He returned her smile, nodded his head once. Then, she disappeared into her home.

"That kid's a beast," Shane said as Rick climbed back into the passenger seat of the car. "Bouncing back from a surgery like that."

Rick grinned. "Yeah, he's tough."

Shane put the car in drive and peeled away from the sidewalk. Rick reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen lit up bright and empty. No calls or texts from Michonne.

Not that he was expecting anything. Necessarily. But it might have been nice. And over the last couple of days, he'd gotten used to exchanging little messages with her. _How's your day going? ...What time do you think you'll be getting here? ...Do you need me to bring anything?_ Things like that.

Since they weren't seeing each other that night, he supposed there was no need for it.

Still, he felt good about the way they'd left things that morning. Knowing she'd had a bad break up explained why she'd been resistant to him that night at the bar. And partially why she worked so damned much. But she'd started seeing him, and she'd made time for him every single day since. _Him_. A stranger she met on the subway. And that meant something.

"You're really gonna make me ask, aren't you?" Shane's voice interrupted his thoughts.

 _Shit._

Rick rolled his eyes up to the heavens. "Was it too much to hope that you wouldn't figure it out?"

"Come on, man. You've left work on time every day this week. You're checking your phone every twenty minutes," he gestured to the device in Rick's hand at that exact moment. "And you've _obviously_ been laid."

"Oh, it's obvious, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. So...who is she?" Shane turned to look at his partner.

"You don't know her."

"Of course, I don't know her. If I did, she wouldn't be interested in _you_." Rick shook his head, while Shane laughed at his own joke.

"She's a paralegal in Atlanta," Rick said after a beat. "Her name is Michonne. I met her when I had court on Monday."

"Uh-huh. And when did you uh…?" Shane took both hands off the wheel and pounded a fist into his opposite palm, simulating intercourse.

Rick rubbed his palm over his face. "That's not up for discussion."

"After all the stories I've told you over the years?"

"Those were unsolicited," Rick countered.

"Yeah, but you loved it."

Rick tried to bite back a smile, but it tugged too hard at the corners of his mouth. He had wanted to keep his relationship with Michonne under wraps for a while. Especially with regards to Shane, whom he knew wouldn't let up until he knew everything. But he had to admit, it felt good to talk about her. Damn good.

"She's kind of artsy," he started. "Got all these paintings and stuff all over her place. She has really bad taste in movies. She's sexy - God, she's so sexy."

Out of his peripherals, Rick could see Shane grinning. But he didn't interrupt.

"And smart. She's going to college soon. For the second time. She's gonna be a lawyer."

Shane whistled.

"She's just… She's incredible." Rick concluded.

"Hey, I'm happy for you, man," Shane said. Rick knew he meant that sincerely. Shane had been there to see his marriage start to crumble, he'd been there to see it end, and he'd been there to help Rick find his footing again. He'd wanted nothing more than to see his friend moving on with his life. "So, when do I get to meet her?"

"Not just yet."

"What? Afraid she's gonna fall in love with me?"

Rick scoffed. "Yeah. I'm shaking in my boots."

No, it certainly wasn't that. And it wasn't even that they had only met a few days ago.

Truthfully, he just wanted to be a little bit selfish with her. He wasn't ready to let the rest of the world in on what they had. He wanted to savor things as they were now: just the two of them, tucked away behind his doors or hers, sharing each other's minds and bodies in a way that no one else could touch.

He wanted to keep her all to himself.

Just for a little while longer.

* * *

At about half past midnight, Rick pulled into his driveway and shut off the ignition. He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the headrest. After returning Carl to his mom, it had been a slow and monotonous shift for him. No stops, no calls, nothing. It was the kind of workday that made a person tired just sitting through it.

He yawned.

Not to mention, the late nights and physical exertion of the last few days were catching up to him. He already missed Michonne, but the thought of falling into bed and sleeping until noon was certainly seductive in its own right.

Rick climbed out of the car and headed toward his house. Like always, it was a quiet night in his neighborhood. Besides the distant hum of highway traffic, the only sounds that could be heard were his shoes on the pavement and the keys jingling in his pocket. It was dark, too, as his street didn't have any lamp posts. And he'd neglected, once again, to leave the porch light on.

Just as he was about to curse himself for it, he noticed a figure sitting on the porch steps, and stopped in his tracks.

"Hey," he said.

"Officer Friendly," Michonne greeted him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Missed you," she said, echoing his own sentiments.

When he reached her, he held a hand out. She took it, and with one swift motion, he pulled her up and against him. He hooked one arm around her waist, holding her to him, and kissed her firm on the mouth. She brought her hands up to his face, lightly raking her fingertips across his cheeks. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, bearing down on her so heavily, she had to regain her footing.

Eventually, they pulled apart, foreheads touching. He felt his fatigue dissipating into thin air.

"You should have called, told me you were here," Rick said, leading her up the steps to the front door.

"I haven't been waiting long. And I wanted to surprise you."

"Mission accomplished. In the future, the spare key is taped back here." He reached up and tapped his finger against the back of the porch lantern.

Rick let them both inside and turned on a small table lamp in the living room. He turned around to look at Michonne. In the light of the house, he could see she wore a long, black skirt that flowed down her legs and almost kissed the floor, and a bright blue, tank top - V-neck, no bra. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders per usual. He tried not to stare.

He undid his duty belt and laid it gingerly on the dining room table, then leaned back against it, keeping a good distance between them. His fingers itched to touch her. Her skirt looked like it would slide off her hips with the slightest tug from his hands. "So. Not that I'm not happy to see you but… I thought we were going to take a couple days."

"I decided I didn't want them."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Mhmm." She took a step closer to him, a smile creeping up on her face. "How was your day?"

"Normal."

"Catch any bad guys?"

"Nah, not this time."

"So, what'd you do?"

"Thought about you, mostly."

She took a few more steps toward him, almost completely closing the space between them. He reached for her hand, held it loosely.

"Why'd you change your mind?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager for her answer.

"I thought about what you said. How we can figure things out together… I think I'd like that."

"I didn't mean to rush you." He'd hoped she wouldn't need multiple days to sort through her feelings, but he thought she'd at least take the night.

"You didn't. I want you. So I'm going to have you. Starting right now."

Rick let out a deep breath, a contented expression falling over his face. He couldn't know what exactly had flipped her switch, but in that moment, he didn't much care. She was there, choosing to be with him. For now, that was all he needed to hear.

He shook off his glow, and realized he'd forgotten his manners. "So, uh, can I get my girlfriend anything? A drink or…?"

He almost burst out laughing at the way she crinkled her nose.

"What?" He asked. "I can't call you that?"

"No, no, it's just… Well, what else you got?"

Rick turned his eyes upward. "Hmm… Significant other. Partner. Lover-"

"Nevermind," she shook her head. "'Girlfriend' will work just fine."

Michonne slide one hand to the nape of his neck, into his hair, and urged his mouth to hers. He kissed her and pulled her against him, hyper aware of how her soft breasts pushed pressed into his chest.

It wasn't longer before their kiss changed from delicate to frenzied. He found the waistband of her skirt and jerked it down her hips. It slid off just as easy as he'd imagined. Before the garment could even hit the floor, his hands were on her ass, squeezing roughly. Her cheeks were mostly bare, but he could feel a thin strip of lacy fabric up around her waist. He made a mental note to get a good look at her in those underwear before he ripped them off.

They stumbled down the hallway and into his room, collapsing on the bed, her on top of him. Michonne frantically began to pull at his uniform, yanking his shirt from his waistband and undoing his buttons. He clumsily tried to get out of his top and undershirt, while she went to work on his bottoms. She undid his belt, and dragged off his pants and underwear with one fluid motion, then climbed back into his lap.

While he was completely naked, she still wore her tank top and panties. But damn, he could feel her between her legs. Heat and wetness soaked through the fabric. He slid his hands under her shirt, up her back, ready to tear it off. But she stopped him, and dropped her lips to his neck.

She sloppily kissed his body, dragging her tongue from his chest down to his stomach. His dick twitched at the close proximity to her mouth. He didn't want to force it, but he couldn't help himself. Gently, he cradled her head in his hands and urged her down. Down to where he wanted her.

She laughed under her breath at his impatience, settling between his legs on all fours, supple ass high in the air as she bent over him. He held his breath while she welcomed his swollen head between her lips. His mouth fell open and his toes curled.

"Ah, ah, fuck…" He groaned. Her mouth was like velvet. Soft and warm, and so wet that her silky tongue slid around his shaft effortlessly. He had to squeeze his eyes shut when she began to bob her head up and down, the visual being too much for him to handle.

She worked him back and forth in her mouth, applying perfect suction on every upstroke. He felt her fingers grip the base of him, holding him upright while she pulled away from his dick and took each of his balls into her mouth, lavishing them with attention. It was phenomenal and impossible to stand at the same time.

"Michonne, please…" He whispered. He didn't even know what he was asking for. His head was swimming.

She swirled her tongue around his sack once more before pulling away. The hand around his cock began to pump up and down, creating a delicious pressure. She whispered something he didn't hear, her voice low and thick with arousal, then eagerly stuffed him back into her mouth. She sucked him mercilessly, chasing her mouth with her fist, drawing long, tortured noises from him over and over.

Rick gripped the bedsheets so hard, his forearms ached. He was getting close. He wanted to tell her to stop. He wanted to throw her down and bury himself between her legs. But her mouth felt so good. And the thought of filling her throat with his cum...

He moved one hand down to rest lightly on the back of her head, and began to thrust his hips upward. Realizing that he was near the edge, Michonne doubled her efforts, matching the pace of his thrusts and taking him deeper. When he felt his tip graze the back of her throat, he lost control.

Stars exploded behind his eyes while he came. He arched his spine and pushed his head back into the mattress. He didn't breathe. All the while, her mouth never left him, milking every last drop he had to give her.

As Rick came back down to Earth, he was vaguely aware of Michonne crawling up his body and lying down, flush against him. She kissed his jaw, his temple, his neck. She rubbed her soft leg against his. He waited several moments until he'd regained his strength, before swiftly flipping her onto her back.

He levered himself over her, and she squirmed underneath him, ready and willing for whatever he was going to do to her. His eyes locked onto her lips - those full, wet lips that had just pleasured him so thoroughly - and crushed his mouth against them.

He swept his tongue inside, stroking it against hers. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he thought about how he'd pay her back for the way she'd just blown his mind.

When Michonne's fingers were in his hair, her thighs wrapped around his waist, her heart pounding against her chest, he pulled back. She strained her neck upward to get more of his lips but he stayed out of reach. He wriggled out of the grip of her legs and knelt above her, indulgently eyeing her up and down. His eyes fell on her heaving chest, where her nipples had contracted into hard peaks.

He lowered his body to hers again. He closed his mouth over her nipple, wetting the area with his tongue, sucking her through the fabric of her shirt.

"Rick. _Rick_." She arched her back and held his head to her chest with both hands. He nipped the tight bud with his teeth and she whimpered. He moved to the right nipple, doing the same all over again. Even with a barrier, the feel of her tits in his mouth was more than enough to send life coursing through his cock once more.

"Oh God…" Michonne groaned while he continued to tease her. He had half a mind to stay there for hours, his torso nestled between her legs, making out with her breasts while she rocked against him and begged him for more.

He left her body briefly, stretching over her to reach the side table drawer where he had an opened box of condoms. Several were missing - one from Thursday, several from the previous evening. All put to very good use. While he pulled out one more, Michonne wrapped her arms around his waist, and began to kiss his neck.

"Uh uh. Not yet," he said, gently pushing her back onto the mattress. "Hold this," he handed her the foil packet, then palmed one of her naked breasts in his hand, momentarily distracted by its softness. He circled her hard nipple with his thumb, pinched it between his fingers, and gave her one final squeeze.

Then, he lowered his mouth to temple and rasped in her ear, "Roll over."

* * *

 _Asshole_ , Michonne thought to herself, but wasted no time in rolling onto her stomach for him. Between sucking him off, and his lips and tongue on her body, she was ripe for him to ride her until they both collapsed from exhaustion. But the patient, controlled tone of Rick's voice suggested it wouldn't happen until he was good and ready.

She felt his soft lips pressing into her back, working their way down her spine. He moved his hands over her ass, gripping both cheeks firmly, spreading them apart. He dragged his fingertips down her things, then up over her backside again. This time, when he brought them down, he pulled her underwear along with. The lacy fabric tickled her feet as he slide them all the way off.

His hands cupped the sides of her ass, rubbing his smooth face across one cheek, then the other. Without warning, he sank his teeth into her plump flesh. The sensation caused her to cry out, and her hips jerked up involuntarily. Rick correctly assessed it as a cry of pleasure, and immediately did it again. And again.

While he used his lips and teeth on her, one of his hands crept up her thigh. He found her sopping wet, and used his fingers to spread her juices around her clit.

"Is that for me?" He murmured against her skin.

"Rick," she huffed into her pillow. This was agony.

Rick grabbed a hold of her waist and urged her hips up off the bed, then leaned his body over hers to grab the condom from her tight fist. While Rick ripped open the package, Michonne began to rock her hips back into him, not giving a damn how desperate it made her look.

She heard Rick moan, but he quickly stilled her hips with his hands. "Easy...easy…"

She held her breath while he positioned his cock at her entrance. But he didn't put it inside her like she was dying for. Instead, he rubbed the upper side of him against her engorged clit in strong, steady strokes.

 _Fuck_.

Michonne rose up onto her elbows to give herself more leverage, and started pushing into him again.

"Rick… _Do it_. Put it in me."

He responded with a noise she couldn't describe, and she smiled, knowing her begging was chipping away at his composure. And that under his assertive demeanor, he was just as close to his limits as she was to hers.

"Fuck," he groaned before relenting and pushing himself inside her pussy.

Rick had always felt good, but this time, it was something else. He slid into her, thick and heavy. She could feel every groove of him. Every vein. Judging by the sounds coming from his throat, it was especially intense for him, too.

"So good…" He choked out. "You're so good…"

She couldn't see him but she bit her lip picturing exactly what he would look like in that moment. Head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted. The muscles in his arms would flex as he pulled her to him again and again. His ass would clench as he drove inside as deeply as he could.

With that image in her mind, Rick picked up the pace, abandoning his foreplay entirely and pounding into her with a force that shook the bed. He was grunting every time his hips slammed into her ass, and her own moans were equally beyond her control. In no time at all, Michonne heard Rick's broken cries echo through the room. He reached his hand down between her legs, fumbling to take her the rest of the way. She opened her mouth to scream, but it never came. Biting down on the bed sheets as pleasure rolled over her, her mind went white.


	7. Sunday

Rick slid one hand up Michonne's spine and cupped it around the back of her neck. He placed the other on her hip, holding her in place while he licked and sucked her neck and shoulder.

"Careful," she warned as he pulled her closer to him.

"Hmm?"

"Don't want to get my hair wet," she explained, motioning to her locs, which were pulled up into an elastic.

Wordlessly, Rick reached behind his back to push the shower head downward, away from her, and quickly resumed his task. She stroked her fingers through his wet locks, closing her eyes and letting him position and play with her body as he liked. When she felt his hardening cock nudging against her midsection, she whimpered and took a bite out of his shoulder.

He reached behind her for a bar of soap. As he lathered it up between his hands, she got wafts of the scent that she'd come to associate with him. No hints of cedar wood and peppermint, which companies loved to dump into men's soaps. This was fresh, clean, and crisp. And light enough that it never masked the natural smell of his skin.

Rick began to rub his sudsy palms up and down her back, eventually making his way to her ass. He lingered there, stroking her skin in wide circles and dipping his fingers between her buttocks. Gradually, he worked his way to her stomach, then up to her chest. With one soapy breast in each hand, he began to roll each nipple with his thumbs.

Michonne heard him mumble a question, but in her thickening haze of lust, she didn't hear what it was.

"What?" She asked.

"Are you hungry?" He repeated. She opened her eyes, and found him looking back at her. Casually. Like he expected her to carry on a conversation when he was touching her like that.

"Yeah," she managed.

"What for?" He lowered his head back down to her neck.

"I...don't know," she murmured.

Rick adjusted the shower head again, just enough to rinse the suds from Michonne's body. She felt him reach for the soap bar again. This time, he handed it to her, and turned around. "Can you get my back?"

She rubbed the bar between her hands, then began to massage his back, alternating between her palms and her fingernails. Rick stepped under the spray to rinse off. His hair soaked up the water and matted against his scalp. Michonne spotted a bottle of basic, drugstore shampoo on the rim of the tub and picked it up. She poured a conservative amount into her hand and began to work it directly into his scalp.

She smiled to herself when a low hum began to emit from him, as she was confident he had never experienced the satisfaction of a scalp massage before. He dropped his head back to allow her better access. After working her fingertips all over his head, she urged him back under the water for a rinse.

Rick moved to turn around but she planted her hands on his waist to keep him facing front. She reached for the soap again. After lathering up, she began to rub down the front of his body. Her hands glided over his chest and stomach, then settled between his legs. She worked the soap into the thick patch of hair there, but avoided the organ protruding from it.

"French toast," she said.

"What?" Rick said after a moment. She smirked at how distracted he sounded.

"I'm hungry for French toast. Can you make that?" She couldn't. No matter how many times she tried, she could only achieve a burnt exterior with a raw center.

"Uh...I don't have any bread. I know a place we could go though."

"Where is it?"

"It's uh…" He trailed off, leaving the answer unfinished, and reached for one of her teasing hands, brought it directly to his hard dick. His head fell back again as she began to stroke her soapy fingers up and down his shaft. When she smoothed her other hand down to his sack, fondling him gently, he began to moan.

In no time at all, he was pulling her hands away from his groin and turning to face her. He smashed his mouth against hers. His lips and tongue were hot and wet from the steady stream of water. She went for his dick again, but he was holding her so tightly against him that she didn't have enough room to get a rhythm. Where they stood, pellets of water rained down on his shoulders and splashed her in the face, but she didn't care. His tongue was in her mouth, his dick pulsing against her stomach. Her mind was only on one thing.

"Let's get out," she implored, knowing that they didn't have any protection with them in the shower.

Rick ignored her, and awkwardly dropped to his knees on the shower floor. He pushed her gently against the wall opposite the shower head, and urged her to place one of her legs on the rim of the tub, exposing her pussy to him completely. Realizing his intentions, she interrupted him.

"No, no… Let's go to the bedroom." She bit her lip in anticipation, thinking about how she would get on all fours for him, how his cock would fill her with ease.

"Just a little…" He promised.

As she could have predicted, _just a little_ was not enough for either of them. Rick began by spreading her lips apart and placing his tongue directly on her clit. But he didn't move it. He kept it maddeningly still, until Michonne was rolling her hips into his face and whimpering in frustration. When he started to take long, slow licks from her, her patience snapped. She buried her fingers in his hair and held his head in place while she ground herself into his face.

Rick responded by bringing both hands to her ass, pulling her toward him with a rhythm that matched her own. She could barely breathe, between his attentions and the thick air in the shower. He moved his tongue steadily, driving her sensation higher and higher until her orgasm crashed down on her.

* * *

"Okay, here we go…" Their waitress set down Michonne's tea, the cup knocking against the saucer as she lowered it to the table. Then, a mug of coffee for Rick.

She fished out a handful of sweetener packets from her apron and set them in the center of the table, even though they already had a full supply. And she gave them two straws, even though they didn't have any water to use them for. She was moving oddly - deliberately - slow, and her eyes continuously darted back and forth between her two customers.

Rick, with whom she was on a first-name basis, gave her a knowing glance and her face fell in disappointment. She straightened up, smoothed out her apron, and after giving one last sweet smile to Michonne, walked away.

"It's 'cause I've never brought someone here before," Rick explained, leaning across the table so only she could hear him. "They don't have anything better to worry about, I guess."

Michonne nodded her head, then looked across the restaurant to see their waitress, the cook, and the hostess all looking at their booth. They all scattered and pretended to be busy when she caught them staring.

Rick chuckled. "I'm sorry."

She waved it off. They seemed nice, even if a little nosy.

After moving their morning activities from the shower to the Rick's bedroom, they cleaned up - again - and headed to a small diner a few blocks from the house. It was a new place, and Rick admittedly preferred the diners he'd gone to growing up. But this one was Carl's favorite, and according to the boy, they had the best French toast.

That day, the stifling heat had finally broken, giving way to dry air and a cool breeze. Rick wore jeans - the same pair she'd seen him in a couple of times already - and a Henley shirt. Michonne was, of course, stuck with her same outfit from the night before. Rick, however, had loaned her a soft, grey sweat jacket of his to obscure her braless tits.

"So, do I have you for the whole day? Or do you have plans?" She asked.

He shook his head. "I was thinking of calling Shane up, maybe getting in a game of basketball… But he's not going anywhere."

"Neither am I."

Rick smiled, then lowered his head. "It's just as well, though. If we're going to keep having sex, I need to eat."

Michonne laughed and reached for a couple of sugar packets for her tea. They both flavored and stirred their drinks in silence.

"I talked to him about you, yesterday. Shane."

"Really? What did you say?"

"I told him your name, what you do. How we met. He wants to meet you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But we don't have to rush into all that. I'm glad he knows, though. He can finally stop trying to set me up."

It sounded like Shane had been eager for his friend to find someone else after his divorce. Or maybe he was just eager for him to get laid. Either way, it told Michonne how much the man must care for Rick. That made her smile.

"He likes to play match maker?"

"He likes to try."

"You want to know something?"

"Mhmm," he said without hesitation.

"I'm glad he failed," she said.

"Yeah," Rick agreed. "I can only imagine who I'd be sitting here with otherwise."

"And… The fact that you haven't seen anyone since your divorce, and I'm the one who's showing it all to you for the first time again… I like it."

Rick smirked at first, then a strange look fell over his face. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it.

"He might've succeeded. One time."

Michonne sat back in her seat, feeling curious but not altogether surprised. "So you _did_ date?"

"I didn't date. I went on _a_ date," he clarified. "Truth is, I forgot about it until now."

"I guess that's why there wasn't a second."

"Tell me about it."

"Alright. So, you had a date. But what about what we talked about in my bedroom before?" She asked, playfully, already knowing the answer.

She could almost see memories of that day flickering behind his eyes - her unbuttoning his clothes, him burying his nose between her legs, her coming after just one thrust, begging him to go deeper… "Now, that…" His voice got deeper, raspier. "You were definitely the first one to do that."

She felt herself grow warm from the way he was looking at her. They'd had sex over and over for the past four days, and every time she thought her body was spent, it proved her wrong. Still, a person could only handle so much. She searched for a way to dispel the tension before she wound up dragging him out to the car.

"So, what happened on your date?"

"Nothing. Less than nothing." Rick looked like he wanted to leave it at that, going back to his coffee. But Michonne stared him down until he relented.

"A few months back, a friend of mine from another precinct had a bunch of us out at her place for a barbecue. Or, I _thought_ it was gonna be a bunch of us. It ended up being Shane and me, and our friend, and her new neighbor. This woman who'd just moved to Georgia. And… Well, to make a long story short, she and Shane decided that me and this neighbor might want to get to know each other."

An exasperated grin pulled at Rick's lips as he remembered the events of that evening. He took a sip of his coffee.

"We started talking. And it wasn't so bad. She was divorced, too, had two boys. One was Carl's age. She actually reminded me a lot of Lori... So, we went out for dinner about a week later. And ten minutes into it, I realized I wasn't ever gonna see her again."

Michonne raised her eyebrows. "And why was that?"

"At first, it felt good." He shook his head, as if he'd said the wrong thing. "It felt _familiar_. That's why I gave it a chance. But I was sitting there in that restaurant and I saw myself walking into the same life that I already knew didn't work. And it hit me...it wasn't what I wanted."

"And what do you want?"

"Somethin' else," he said, simply. They both quietly sipped from their cups, letting the obvious answer - that the thing he wanted was sitting right in front of him at that very moment - hang in the air.

"But," Rick eventually continued. "When you only know one thing, one person, for so long...you think that's what you're supposed to be looking for. That that's how it's supposed to be. I had to let that go."

"I'm happy you did," she confessed, understanding that if he hadn't, he'd probably be miserable now. And he definitely wouldn't be sitting here with her.

"Me, too. Not just for me, either. I don't want to bring somebody into Carl's life who isn't gonna stick around. And if it happens anyway, I at least want to make sure it was worth it."

Another obvious conclusion gone unspoken. _She was worth it._ That's what he was saying. And after everything that had transpired between them over the last couple days, it didn't come as a surprise. But there was something about hearing him say that he wanted to bring her into his son's life, and that he wanted her to stick around. As he opened himself to her over and over again, she couldn't help but feel the need - not the obligation, but the acute, incessant desire - to open herself up to him, too.

Their waitress approached their table with their food - French toast for her, scrambled eggs and hash browns for Rick. Their conversation halted, as conversations tended to whenever food was served. Rick dug into his food without adding any salt or pepper. Michonne unwrapped a small package of cold, whipped butter, watched it melt and pool in the divot of her short stack.

"We were pregnant."

* * *

Rick froze, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth.

 _We are pregnant._ That's what he thought she'd said. As in, him and her. Right now. But in a split second, he realized he'd misheard her. She was saying, she _was_ pregnant. Before they met. With someone else. With Mike, of course.

"We weren't trying. It just...happened," she continued, while he tried to listen to her words and piece together his own thoughts at the same time.

She was pregnant. That's what she said. Not, _We had a kid_. She didn't have a kid. She was pregnant. And now, she wasn't.

"We decided to keep it. But soon after, I lost it."

Rick watched her intently, trying to read her emotions. There were no tears. Her voice didn't hitch. She met his eyes straight on. She didn't seem like she needed any comfort. He wanted to give it anyway, but he didn't know what to say. Michonne picked up easily on his loss for words.

"It was a long time ago," she said.

"Still… I'm sorry," he replied, lamely. "Do you know why...?"

She shook her head. "No. They just happen sometimes. A lot, actually."

"I didn't know that," he said. In all his years with Lori, they'd never experienced a miscarriage. "Are you...are you okay?"

"I am. The truth is, sometimes I feel bad that I don't feel bad enough. I mean, it all happened so fast. I was just getting used to the idea of it, then it was over."

"You don't have to feel anything but what you feel. Maybe it just...wasn't the right time."

"Maybe. Probably." She lifted the syrup dispenser and poured copious amounts over her food. "I wonder if I could get some bananas for these…" She mumbled absently.

Rick scanned the room for their waitress, but she was out of sight.

"Right before I lost it," she continued. "I was at this little corner shop that made hand-stitched clothes. And I saw these cute little baby booties. I bought a pair in yellow. Very gender neutral," she added jokingly. "I still have them. I keep them in my dresser drawer. I'm not sure why."

He nodded. He didn't know either.

"If you don't mind my asking...is that why you and Mike ended things?"

She nodded. "I always thought he would be the one, but after that, it was never the same. He begged me for us try again, right away. I thought we should wait. He thought I didn't want to have a family with him… Maybe I didn't." She took a sip of her tea. "Eventually, I broke it off."

"That's why he keeps coming around," he ventured a guess, feeling more sympathy for this man than he had before. "He still loves you."

"I don't know," she smirked, humorlessly. "I think he's still in a lot of pain, and he thinks I'm the person who can fix it. But I can't."

She picked up her knife and fork, and cut into her French toast. Syrup gushed out of them and onto her plate. She paused.

"That was the really hard part of it," she said. "Not the miscarriage. But, what happened after. Watching your relationship - someone you love - fall apart in front of you, and not being able to stop it. I couldn't put it back together. I tried."

Now, that, he had experienced.

"I don't know if I can do that again."

"What makes you think you'll have to?" He asked. She didn't seem to have an answer for that. "I'm not Mike. Even if that...happened to us one day, it doesn't have to end up the same way."

She looked at him with pure grace in her eyes. "I know."

But knowing it was different than feeling it. Different than living it. And that was okay. They didn't have to be perfect going into this. They didn't have to be completed self-assured, wholly adjusted to all of the curveballs life had thrown them. He'd told her just as much the previous morning.

He cocked his head to the side, looking her straight in the eye. "I'm glad you told me. I'm proud you felt like you could. I still don't have any answers for you, but..."

He reached across the table and cupped her elbow gently in his palm.

"We can just be happy while we figure it out, right?" He proposed. "I think we deserve that."

"Yeah. I think we do." She reached across the table and caressed his stubbled jaw. He leaned into her palm, planted a quick kiss on her wrist.

At that moment, the waitress returned to their table. She stood awkwardly, clearly sensing that she was interrupting something. "How is everything for you guys?"

"Everything's great, thanks," Rick kept his eyes on Michonne while he answered. "Do you think I could get some sliced up bananas for my girlfriend?"

"O-oh, w-well, yes. Of course. Be right back." The waitress scurried off, anxious to get back to the kitchen and divulge the information Rick had just casually given her.

"I get the feeling," Michonne spoke through a grin. "That something unstoppable has just been set in motion."

Rick chuckled. "Yeah, I'm gonna have everyone up my ass when I get back to the station this week."

But, he didn't mind.

"Of course," he realized. "This means I'm gonna have to tell Carl sooner than later. I wanna make sure he hears it from me. Is that...okay with you? This soon?"

"Yes," she said, sincerely. "What do you think he's going to say?"

"I think he'll be alright with it. Like I said, he loves his step-dad."

"Not as much as you, though," she assured.

He laughed. "Yeah, you're probably right about that. But really, even if I get a little jealous sometimes, I'm glad Jeff's there for him. There's a lot of kids that don't even have one parent to love them, to care what happens to them. My son has three. He's lucky," he finished, matter-of-factly, and took another sip of his coffee.

"And if he's _real_ lucky, and if I'm lucky...maybe, one day, he'll have four." He watched her for a reaction.

Michonne continued to cut up her food into bite sized pieces, and with each slice he could see the smile on her face getting just a little bit wider.

"Yeah," she said, finally, and shoved a large portion of French toast into her mouth. "Maybe."


	8. Epilogue

One year later.

"Carl!" Michonne dropped her sponge into the sink and shouted over the relentless thumping noise coming from the other room. Carl had been banging something against the wall of his bedroom for a good ten minutes, and her patience was exhausted.

Rick's son came bounding into the kitchen, baseball in hand, where Michonne was wiping her sudsy fingers on a dish towel. "What?" He asked, oblivious.

"Do you have to do that?" She asked calmly.

"I have to practice," he reasoned.

"In the house?"

He shrugged and tossed the ball up into the air a few times, catching it whenever it came back down. He roamed around the living room, restless and impatient.

"Have you ever slept outside before?" He asked excitedly.

"No, and I don't plan to start now."

"Me, either," Rick said, as he strode in the front door, warm sun rays streaming in behind him. He was sporting a deliciously tight black t-shirt and week-old beard.

Today, they were driving out to visit a state park near Savannah for a couple of weeks. With Carl having finished up school for the year, and Michonne on break until her summer semester started, Rick took some long overdue time off so the three of them could get away together.

"Michonne, you got any tunes? Ain't nothing on the radio around here except stories about that dude." Shane trailed inside after his friend. "One bad case of the flu in Buttcrack, Kentucky, and you'd think the damn world was coming to end."

The three of them... _and Shane_.

"My iPod's on the dresser," she offered.

Rick and Shane disappeared down the hallway to the master bedroom. "Hey, what are you talking about, I got a whole case of my CDs in the glove compartment," Rick said.

"Yeah, I know," Shane said. "I'll pass."

When they were gone, Carl turned to Michonne again. "How can you go camping and _not_ stay outside?"

" _I'm_ not going camping. I'm going to a camp _ground_...with hiking, a museum, and beautiful air-conditioned cabins. _You're_ the one dying to sleep on dirt."

"And Shane. He brought his sleeping bag, too!"

"I hope you two have a ball. Are you sure you're all packed?"

"I packed everything three days ago," he whined. Michonne grinned.

"Including your toothbrush, I noticed." Carl side-eyed her nervously, unsure if she was going to scold him for not brushing his teeth for three days.

"Oh, I won't bust your chops. Just don't get too close to me," she joked. He giggled as Rick and Shane came back into the room with more luggage.

"What's so funny?" Rick inquired.

"Nothing," Carl chirped. He tossed his baseball to Michonne - who caught it deftly - winked at her, then ran outside after Shane. He jumped on the older man and hitched a piggyback ride to the car. Rick watched them go, then looked to Michonne for an answer.

"Nothing," she concurred, shrugging her shoulders.

Being more than used to the two of them excluding him from their inside jokes, he just chuckled and shook his head. He dropped the duffel that was slung over his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Hi."

"Hi," she replied, bringing her hands up to his shoulders.

"Thanks for doing those." He gestured to the clean dishes air drying in the rack.

"No problem. Are we all set?"

"Yeah, just making space for a couple more suitcases." He disentangled from her and went to the fridge where he pulled out a bottle of water. He downed half of it in one drink.

"It was nice of Shane to let us use his SUV."

Rick nodded in agreement. "But I'm still trying to figure out how we got from taking his car to taking _him_."

"It's a package deal," she said, echoing the exact sentiments Shane had offered them when he invited himself along.

"Well, I'll admit, it'll be nice to have another pair of eyes to look after Carl."

"According to him, he and Shane are sleeping outside every night."

"Hmm...even better." He gave her a pointed look.

"You're sure of yourself." She moved past him to finish wiping down the sink.

"And you're not?"

"I'm not taking this trip for sex. I'm taking it to spend quality time with you and Carl and...to relax."

 _As if he didn't know what got her relaxed._

"Yeah, that's why you wore those…" He scoffed, looking down at the bottoms she'd chosen for the day. A pair of white, well-worn cut off shorts that were _just_ short enough to draw stares.

"It's warm out," she defended. But on the inside, she was smiling. She had worn them to get his attention, but they'd been up for several hours and he hadn't mentioned it. She assumed he just didn't notice. _Shoulda known_.

"Not that warm."

"Okay, you caught me," she surrendered, throwing down the dish towel and turning to face him.

Rick laughed, and the sound of it hit Michonne right in her chest, pushing her to bite the bullet and ask him something she'd wanted to for the past two weeks.

"Hey, can we talk?"

Sensing it was important, Rick sobered and nodded, giving her his full attention.

"It's good, with us. Right?" She began.

He eyed her warily. Things _were_ good. But when people stated it as a preface, it usually meant that things were going to change.

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"So...how would you feel about…" She took a deep breath. "...moving in with me?"

Rick was slightly caught off guard. It had been a busy morning for them all, and this was the last thing he had expected to hear. Not that he wasn't happy to hear it...

Before he could get a word in, she continued.

"Me driving out here, you coming to my place, it's really...inconvenient. And impractical. Especially when I have classes…"

"You want to live together because of logistics?" He interrupted, knowing that wasn't the reason.

She took a deep breath, realizing he wasn't going to let her off that easy.

"No," she admitted. She paused for a moment, looking for the right words. "You know, I used to love my apartment. It was my home. But now...when you're not there with me, it just feels empty. And I feel anxious...and impatient, to get to wherever you are."

Michonne shrugged, not knowing how else to explain it.

Rick looked down, letting the moment sink in before going to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and buried is face in her neck. She did the same.

"Is that a yes?" She mumbled against his skin.

"Of course, it's a yes," he replied, grinning from ear to ear. "I love you," he told her for probably the hundredth time.

"I love you, too," she returned. Then, after a moment: "We'll have to talk to Carl."

"We will." He pulled back to look her in the eye.

"And we'll have to decide where. Here or my place or…"

"We'll figure it out," he interrupted her for a second time, and stroked a hand over the back of her head. "All of it. When we get back."

She nodded, content to leave the details for later.

"Let's go, let's go, let's go!" Shane hollered impatiently from outside, with Carl repeating after him. Rick and Michonne laughed, then headed out the door. Outside, Rick locked the door and double checked the deadbolt. Then, all of them piled into the car: Rick in the driver's seat, Michonne in riding shotgun, Shane and Carl in the back.

 _Doctors in Crossgate, Kentucky are still investigating the deformities on the deceased's face -_

Michonne clicked off the radio and plugged her iPod into the jack, letting the music fill the car and spill out the windows. She turned to Rick.

"You ready?" She asked.

He just smiled, and turned the key in the ignition.


End file.
